


Critically Distant

by alluvium



Category: Impractical Jokers, Tenderloins (Comedians)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6392716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alluvium/pseuds/alluvium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sal keeps having upsetting dreams about Q. When the truth comes out, what will happen between them—will their relationship withstand, or will it crumble beneath them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realize

It started again over a series of dreams that he just couldn’t shake off. For the third night in a row, Sal had shot up in bed, covered in a cold sweat—the first night it was 1:51AM, the second 4:12AM, and tonight, the third, 2:34AM. His pupils dilated to let the surroundings of his dark hotel room haze into vision, and his fumbling hand reached for the nightstand, his glasses. While one hand pushed them onto the bridge of his nose, the other shakily wiped away the beads of sweat that had collected on his forehead. The soft sounds of breathing and the gentle rise and fall of the covers beside Sal reminded him that, unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. Beside him, a disheveled, sleeping Q lie sprawled on the other side of the king sized mattress, and in that moment, Sal took in a deep breath and sighed, his shoulders relaxing when he realized his outburst hadn’t woken the other again. The first night had not been so lucky, however.

No, at 1:51AM, two days earlier, Sal had thrown his covers off onto Q and scrambled into a sitting position in bed, his breaths heavy and labored, with a panic attack looming darkly over the static horizon of his woken mind. Q had almost sat up just as quickly, the still bed having been disturbed. At first he had roused from sleep groggily, but when the reality of Sal’s choked, almost sobbing breaths, reached his ears he was scooting over to Sal’s side, placing his heavy hand on the trembling man’s shoulder.  

“What happened?” Q’s gruff voice mused as he threaded his fingers through his shaggy hair, pushing it out of his face. “Did you dream of a cat?”

When Sal didn’t quip back with a witty, smart remark or try to push Q’s hand away defiantly, the sleepy, teasing smile that had graced Q’s lips melted away, giving way to an actual, true concern.

He tried again. “Sally, what’s wrong with you?” Q’s hand slid across to Sal’s other shoulder, squeezing him closer.

“Stop, get your hands _off_ me.” Sal squirmed away from the other’s touch, almost tumbling out of the bed. “Don’t touch me—” Sal began, panicked. “I just need a minute, okay?” Sal had risen to his feet, taking stumbling steps backwards to put distance between himself and Q. Q’s hand fell to the indentation of where Sal once was, and his quizzical eyes found their way to Sal’s body, his back flush against the wall.

“Bud, what’s going on?” Q began to move.

“Just leave me alone, all right?” Sal made a brisk walk to the bathroom, and the door slamming shut reverberated in Q’s ears until it faded into a dull thud in the night. Q stayed where he was for a few long minutes, listening to Sal’s muffled sobs and shuddering breaths. Although he could do nothing—was _instructed_ to do nothing—guilt still pooled in the bottom of his chest as he slid back into his own spot in bed, uncomfortably lulled back to sleep by the heavy atmosphere in the room.

 

_Yeah, naked truth lies, only if you realize_

_Appearing in nobody’s eyes_

_‘Till they sterilize_

_You know the stake is high_

_Those who sympathized you died_

_Killers pass you by_

The next night, at 4:12AM, Sal’s eyes opened, the remnants of his dream still in the forefront of his mind. Although his heart was racing, and the bubble of anxiety was about to burst inside of his chest, he gripped his fingers in the down-feather comforter and willed himself to relax. When his eyes focused, he was greeted by Q’s calm, sleeping face. While tears rushed to his eyes, and the dam holding all the water back threatened to break, Sal counted Q’s breaths and tried to push the reality, or rather, the _unreality,_ of his dream to the back of his mind. Sal’s body shook as he closed his eyes again, the fuzzy images flickering in the backs of his eyelids almost enough to send him spiraling into a repeat of last night. But Sal knew, and knew for a fact, that if what happened last night was performed again, Q wouldn’t take it lying down like he had done the night before. Q would probably get in his face, raise his voice, and order Sal to tell him what was wrong. As usual, Q would use his gruff intimidation to get the answers, and Sal wouldn’t be able to shake him off with a bullshit explanation. So instead, Sal tried to phase out the images in his head with the mental counting of Q’s breaths.

“ _43, 44, 45, 46, 47_ …”

 

_Oh god, let me out_

_Can you let me out?_

_Can you set me free from this_

_Dark inner world_

Sal was brought back to his senses, back out of his memory of the past two days, by the gentle rustling of the man across from him. The red, LED display of the clock across the room now read 2:36AM. Sal slowly returned to laying on his back, his glasses removed and clumsily placed back on the nightstand. Sal pressed his palms against his eyes. The panic and full-body cold sweat that woke him the first night had, by now, transformed into him waking with a simultaneously heavy and empty feeling pressing onto his chest. A small sigh escaped Sal, and he cursed the heavens that their tour wouldn’t end for another few weeks. The thought of the dreams continuing while he was in such close quarters with everyone made a lump quickly glue itself to the inside of Sal’s throat.

“ _How long is this shit going to continue?_ ” Sal thought, the sniffling sound of his rapidly stuffing nose filling the room briefly, before everything fell back into a deathly silence. He pressed against his eyes harder, hoping his palms would stop what seemed like an unavoidable stream of tears. He didn’t want to make any noise, he didn’t want the sound of him swallowing around the lump in his throat to sound as loud as it did, and he didn’t want the wiping and sniffling of his nose to bounce off the walls and back into his ears—but unfortunately, it all sounded, to Sal, as if it were all coming through a megaphone. All the while Sal tried to reign in his bucking emotions, he kept his eye on Q’s back, which had been facing him since he had woken up. The time seemed to drag by, each minute weighing heavily on Sal’s consciousness, however, the slight expansion and contraction of Q’s torso while he breathed, sleeping, reminded Sal that he had successfully hid his emotions from Q for yet another night.

With his emotions slightly in check, Sal rolled over, his own back facing Q’s and the oppressive glare of the alarm clock. Sal forced himself back into a restless sleep, the covers pulled up over his nose. Q, feeling the heat radiate from Sal’s body onto his own skin, stared at the clock, blinking slowly but not groggily. Sal’s sniffling was still fresh in his ears, still bouncing around inside his skull. He had stayed as still and calm as he possibly could, trying to not give the impression that he was actually conscious for Sal’s emotional awakening for, in fact, the third night in a row. Q sighed as he heard Sal’s breathing even out, the steady, deep breaths confirming that he had, at least, fallen back asleep. Q, however, found it nearly impossible to shake the awful feeling that had clung to him for the past few days. Unable to do anything, he watched the clock, counting the minutes drift by.

2:58AM.

 

_I can feel nothing in the tone of your voice_

_Closer it gets, y’all know how everything reflects_

_You are one who actually you detest_

_Oh god, it’s enough_

_Are you satisfied?_


	2. The Big Bang

“What’s going on with Sal? You guys have noticed it too, right?” Q asked from behind his coffee cup to Murr and Joe. They all simultaneously glanced Sal’s way and watched him pick at a salad off a paper plate near the lunch table, separated from the rest of his friends. They had all looked at Sal in a way that wouldn’t be obvious, the looks were side-glances at best; and everyone spoke in a hushed tone that, unless someone was really paying attention to them, would seem like none of them were really talking at all.

“You know, I have been getting this weird _vibe_ from him for like the past week.” Murr spoke, shifting his body so that his back would be towards Sal, dare he even look to see what the other three were doing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe began. “He was totally out of it during the last couple shows, right? I wasn’t just imagining that?”

Murr’s shoulders got tense, like he was excited that it was something they _all_ had noticed. “Exactly!” He spoke as loudly as he could in a whisper. “He was just standing there holding the mic and laughing sometimes. He wasn’t obnoxious and boisterous like, well, usual.”

Joe nodded fervently, agreeing with Murr’s assessment.

Q bit his lip, staring into the dark stillness of the coffee in his cup. He ran his fingers across the ridges of the cardboard cup sleeve, his fingernail catching against the bumps of it occasionally. He had debated ever since the first night if he wanted to bring up what happened with Sal to Joe and Murr, but the day after Sal’s first outburst he seemed so distant, unable to clearly look or talk to anyone. Q, albeit worried, was not in the profession to continuously embarrass his best friend by telling the others what had happened (despite his job description). However, the awkward distance he had built between his concern for Sal’s wellbeing and his respect for Sal’s privacy was starting to crack at the foundation. Q understood that Sal was, as many punishments and challenges had deemed him, a sensitive guy. And he knew that sometimes the things that built up inside him could be released from pressure at any point. It wasn’t that this was the first time Q had seen Sal at the end of his emotional rope—in fact, Q had seen the man at his limits more times than he could count on his fingers and toes. The thoughts tumbled around sporadically in Q’s mind. Maybe since he was getting older, he was getting softer. Something kept nagging at the back of his mind, kept urging him to open his mouth.

Q inhaled. “I gotta tell you guys something…” Before he was even finished with what he was saying, Murr and Joe had scooted closer, leaning across the coffee table to Q, their eyes wide. Q’s eyebrows knit closer together, getting the strange feeling that Joe and Murr weren’t really taking this predicament seriously. Q thought that, like many times before, the two were shoving it off as Sal being a “drama queen” about something he would forget in a few days, feigning a sense of “real concern” in place of their desire for “innocent” gossip. Q shook his head and continued.

“Look… the other night, before the show in North Carolina, remember?”

They nodded.

“It was like two in the fuckin’ morning, and he gets up—he’s just scrambling up in the bed—and he’s straight _cryin’_! I wake up, right? And I’m thinkin’ ‘ _He’s had a bad dream about cats_ ,’ or something. And—And that’s what I tell him. I sit up and pat his shoulder and say ‘Did you dream about cats?’”

Murr’s shaped eyebrows arched in amusement at Q’s predictable, yet humorous, response.

Q continued. “But he starts pushin’ me away, saying things like ‘Get your hands off me, don’t touch me.’ And he jumps out of bed and he’s breathin’ so hard I think his ribs are just gonna pop outta his fuckin’ torso.”

The delight contained in Murr’s eyebrows faltered.

“So, Sal runs into the bathroom, tellin’ me not to touch him, or talk to him, or look at him.” Q put his untouched coffee on the table. “And he’s in there for _hours_ , and I can hear him cryin’ and tryin’ to get a hold of himself. How am I supposed to fall back asleep with that?”

Joe butted in. “But you did fall back asleep, right?”

“Yeah, after what seemed like a damn eternity.” Q quipped back, not even thrown off his rhythm. “So of course, the next night I’m on high alert… Before bed he’s acting cool, acting fine, trying to hold some sort of conversation. He knows I’m onto his ass, right?”

Joe and Murr nod again.

“And Sal knows that I’m onto his ass, so he tries to play it real chill. I take his bait and play dumb. Then, _that night_ , at damn near five in the morning, he’s up a _gain._ ”

The other two don’t blink, under the impression that Q is deeply, irrevocably enjoying spilling the beans.

Q tapped the rim of his coffee cup with his stirring straw. “It’s not as bad as the night before, but I can still tell he’s upset, and I can feel the whole bed movin’ from him shaking.” He sighed. “He doesn’t know I’m awake for it, and the next day he’s still trying to smooth things over. Then last night, it happened again. It’s the third night in a row…! The hell is up with this guy? What’s eatin’ him this time?”

Joe put his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his fist. “’Get your hands off me,’ huh? ‘Don’t touch me,’ huh?”

“Yeah,” Q started. “that’s exactly what he was—”

“I want you to go up to Sal, right now, and touch him.” Joe interrupted, sounding disturbingly like he did when he was ordering someone to do something embarrassing for the show.

“Guys, this isn’t a joke—” Q started again, to no avail.

“It doesn’t matter my stance on this, just go do it.”

Murr nodded, eager to see what would happen.

Q ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it all out of his face. “I can tell you this isn’t gonna end well. Watch.” Q stood, taking a couple hesitant steps away from the coffee table before making his path to Sal.

“Hey, buddy.” Q put his hands in his pockets, trying to disguise that he was about to use them.

Sal was a little slouched in a folding chair, an uneaten piece of lettuce skewered to the fork in his hand. He looked up. “Oh, uh, hey.”

Q grasped at straws, laughing awkwardly. “Hey, sit up straight—you remember that challenge, right, bud? In the drug store?”

Sal’s shoulders straightened just enough to make a small difference in his posture. “Yeah, that was a good one.”

Q could feel Joe and Murr’s eyes slyly burrowing into his back, watching every movement like a hawk, their ears perked to every word of the conversation.

A silent moment between Sal and Q hung in time, the two of them staring strangely at one another. Q made the moment his, and pulled his hand from his pocket.

“What are you gonna do on your day off, pal?” Q’s hand pressed onto the middle of Sal’s shoulder, the other man’s collar bone pressing against his palm. “I bet you’ll enjoy it, huh?”

Sal was quick to roll his shoulder to knock Q’s hand away. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna just hang around the set, the hotel.” Sal elected this time to stand up and put a step between himself and Q. “What about you?”

Q recoiled his hand almost as quickly as he had deployed it, returning to the safety of his pockets. He tried to find the right words, but they eluded him. “I—I think I’ll be doin’ the same.” Q started stepping backwards, as if retreating from a failed mission. “Finish your lunch.” Q called out when he was a good distance away. Sal only waved in dismissal and left the area.

Q pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head on his way back to the others. “Please tell me you just saw that.”

Murr’s squeaky voice sounded out, louder now that Sal was out of earshot. “Yeah, what the hell was up with that? He acted like you were some horrible monster.”

Joe couldn’t resist his joking tendencies. “Not that you aren’t.” He smirked.

“Ugh…” Q groaned. “Can you assholes take this a little seriously?”

“Okay, okay!” Murr lifted his hands. “How about this, let’s conduct a little experiment—”

“Oh, fucking Christ…” Q rolled his eyes.

“Just gimme a second!” Murr continued. “Later, both me and Joe will go up to him to see how he reacts, and you’ll be watching from the sidelines. How does that sound, Joe?”

The blue-eyed one nodded in confirmation, that signature, annoying grin on his face.

Q gave in. “Fine, fine. Don’t do it too soon, he’ll suspect something.”

“Of course! You think we’re stupid?” Murr responded.

Q opened his mouth.

“Don’t answer that.” Joe laughed.

 

_I believe so strongly_

_That tomorrow never falls away_

_It still awaits_

_It still carries on through its old ways_

_To this moment of time_

The hours ticked by, and the group found themselves detached from one another. Joe and Murr would spend an hour or so with Q before heading off to hang out on their own. Q wavered on the edge of wanting to give Sal some privacy after what had happened at lunch time, and wanting to stay close behind him, almost spying at him from the shadows. Q had spent the day walking around the hotel, going up flights of stairs and pacing through random halls that were not his own. The situation was annoying and mentally draining—Q hated it. He hated being in a liminal state where he wasn’t sure of his footing. And he hated that whatever was happening with Sal was starting to emotionally fatigue him—Q felt irritatingly depressed. He felt as if there was a crack on the ground between his legs that was slowly opening wider and wider, one foot on territory that meant “everything is fine,” and the other on “nothing is fine.” He felt that eventually the crack would be become so wide that he would have to make the choice between which side he wanted to jump on. What was worse: pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t, or accepting that something is wrong, but possibly not being able to do anything about it? It was all making Q’s head hurt, and when he had returned to his hotel room for the sixth time that day after doing his aimless walking, he finally sat on the couch, the silence of the room almost deafening. Q’s hands automatically went to his phone, just to give his body something to do. He scanned through Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, engaged enough to read through his timelines, but not dedicated enough to update any of his statuses.

The room’s alarm clock mirrored the time on his phone. 6:27PM. While reconciling on the last few hours of his life that he had wasted being stuck inside his mind, his phone vibrated in his hand, the banner across the top of his screen indicating that he had received a message from “Ferret.” Q pulled down on the notification to read the text.

“ _Dinner time! We’re in the set room again. Sal’s here. We’re about to make our move. You better be here in five minutes_.”

Anxiety twisted Q’s guts into knots, and the fact that Murr’s announcement had the power to do that to him only further clouded his mind. How was he supposed to keep up his cold-shoulder exterior if it was all cracking at the surface? He didn’t have time to think about it, not when a time limit was hung above his head. Although he was on the eleventh floor of the hotel, Q’s antsy body refused to wait for the elevator, and instead he chose to descend in circles in the stairwell. When Q reached the set room, he sent a warning text to Murr.

“ _I’m outside the door. Get Sal away if he’s standing near_.”

Although Q didn’t get a direct response back, the words “Read 6:32PM” was enough reason to believe that Murr and Joe had made their move if they needed to. Q opened the door just enough that he could slip through it, and he made sure to hold the knob while he closed it, trying hard to avoid the _click_ of a closing door. He scanned the immediate area, not seeing Joe, Murr, or Sal at all. Everyone there was preoccupied with their own selves or their own conversations, and no one had noticed Q’s stealthy admission into the room. The set room smelled strongly of fried food and decadent eats. Q’s stomach turned, his appetite, at least in that moment, non-existent. Although it sounded distant, Q could hear Murr’s squeaky laugh coming from the right of him. He slid against the partition wall, where the room was separated into two sections, and into a bunch of pulled-back black curtains that could be used to “officially” sanction off the two spaces. Q sighed, relieved that his James Bond maneuvers had earned him safe secrecy from everyone’s eyes. He shuffled through the forest of dark cloth, reaching an end to it and carefully peeking out from behind it. Joe and Murr stood together with plates full of food, talking avidly with one another about things Q couldn’t care less about. Behind them, however, was Sal, walking up and down one of the many tables with food, picking and choosing small things that he liked. It didn’t seem like Joe and Murr had established any sort of real contact with him yet, and Q sighed, relieved he would be able to witness it from start to finish. Without looking away, Q reached into his jacket pocket, switched his phone to silent, and pulled it out. He turned down the brightness as far as it would go, trying his best to not let any light possibly shine through the curtains and give him away. His thumb tapped incessantly on his phone screen, sending a quick message back to Murr.

“ _I’m in position. Commence mission_.”

Q typed as if he were in an action movie to cover up to fact that he was actually pretty nervous for what he was about to witness. A moment later, Murr’s phone pinged. He looked, and then simply slid his phone back into his pocket, not even looking around to see if he could scout out Q’s hiding place. Murr nudged Joe with his elbow and approached Sal at the table.

“Grapes really _are_ your jam, eh, buddy?” Murr teased Sal about his plate full of fruit, a mound of grapes slowly collecting on one section.

Sal turned around tensely. “Oh, it’s you guys.” He sounded skeptical, and looked beyond Joe and Murr’s shoulders to scan the room. “Where’s Q at?” Sal popped a grape into his mouth and crushed it between his teeth anxiously.

Q’s ears perked up at his name on Sal’s lips.

Even though the ball was tossed into Murr and Joe’s court, they were able to counter it safely. “He just texted me. Said he was in the shower.”

Q felt secretly offended and secretly hurt at the fact that as soon as Murr’s lie slipped through his teeth, Sal’s shoulders relaxed. His demeanor a bit softer under the impression that Q was not even on the same _floor_ as him.

“Oh.” Sal tried to not sound as relieved as he was. “That’s too bad. He should get down here soon before all the good food gets taken.”

“Exactly!” Joe went along with what was happening, extending his stomach and slapping it. “He better get here quick because Captain Fatbelly is about to do another number on those ribs, and chicken, and burgers, and fries, and—oh, they just put out the donuts, too!” Joe made his way back to the buffet table, ready to refill his plate.

Sal made a noise. “Don’t use the same plate, it’s disgusting!”

Joe waved him off.

Murr went back to his lazy chatter with Sal, who, to Q, looked more comfortable now than he had in Q’s presence the last three days. It ate at Q’s mind, and he found himself being so consumed by these thoughts that bits of the conversation were coming in fragments, unable to compete with what was happening inside the confines of his own head. The anxious wrinkles on Sal’s face when he was talking with Q earlier that same day were smoothed out, a little smile on his lips constant throughout his stay with Murr and Joe. Q grit his teeth, and by the time he noticed the dim light of his phone showing him a new message, he had realized he’d spent the last few minutes with his eyebrows knit together, staring at Sal.

“ _We’ve been standing here talking for almost thirty minutes. You’ve been listening, right? How long are you going to be in the ‘shower’?_ ”

Had it really been that long? Q’s phone showed 6:57PM, and the realization that he had been sandwiched between bundles of hot cloth for nearly half an hour came to fruition. Q typed back.

“ _I’ve been listening. Gimme a second, I’ll come over_.”

Sent. While Q tried to sift his way out of the curtains and back behind the partition wall where he was out of Murr, Joe, and Sal’s sight, he heard Murr’s phone ding in affirmation of his message. When he slid out from behind the curtains, he came face to face with one of the cameramen from the show, his mouth open, ready to receive the spoonful of mac’n’cheese that he was about to eat. The moment hung in time.

“Q?” He began, pointing at the curtains with his spoon awkwardly. “Where did you—?”

Q made his way over to him, laughing and patting him on the back with vigor. “Oh, Jerry—”

“It’s Perry.”

“—it would be a really bad idea to ever tell anyone about what you just saw!” Q threatened him with a smile on his face.

Perry stared, his face scrunched up awkwardly. “Uh-huh… I’ll remember that.”

Q gave him another “reassuring” pat on the back before leaving him, making his way to the other section of the room with purpose. He crossed over the threshold, coming into the midst of Sal’s conversation with the other two.

“—And that’s how many damn phone calls I got in Miami, can you—” Sal stopped short as soon as Q bobbed into his vision.

“Hey, guys.” Q waved, overly-eager to not give away that he had, in reality, been there the whole time.

Joe slipped right in with his usual banter. “You take some long showers, damn.” He grinned. “Well, I guess with all that hair, you got to.”

“Shut up, idiot.” Q shoved Joe’s shoulder. “At least I’ve still got hair to wash.”

“Touché.” Joe looked off into another direction as if he were staring into a camera on the show.

Q, Murr, and Joe laughed—Sal, however, did not. Q had noticed that when he entered the conversation, Sal had gone mute, his body rigid. Sal’s eyes stared at the floor, as if the speckled pattern on it was extremely interesting.

“What have you guys been talking about?” Q asked.

Murr spoke up. “Sal was just telling us about how his phone was blowing up in Miami after the plane banner challenge.”

Q made himself chuckle. “No way, bro. How many calls did you get?” Q put his hands on his hips, staring down at Sal’s face.

Sal fumbled at his words. “At—I mean—Probably at least—maybe—uhm, close to one-hundred.” He was a deer in headlights. “Hey, I just remembered something!” Sal’s back straightened up, a rivet of excitement going through him like he had just picked the lock to a safe. “I, uh, I have to call my mom. She said something was going on in the family, and…” Sal looked everywhere but at Q, trying to manage his escape. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” He stepped around everyone, tossed his plate into the trash, and made his way to the exit of the room, the door opening and closing with a small _clunk._

Joe and Murr looked at Q and spoke nearly simultaneously. “It’s you.”

Q rubbed his entire face with his hands. “It’s _all_ me.”

“What’d you do to him?” Murr questioned while he scooped ice cream into his mouth.

“I didn’t do a damn thing to him!” Q was louder than he expected, and some of the closer bystanders glanced at him.

“Well, it’s you.” Joe repeated.

“Oh, yeah, it’s all you.” Murr reaffirmed.

“What fuckin’ problem does he have with me?” Q grumbled, crossing his arms, feelings of embarrassment, worry, and slight traces of resentment and irritation fighting for dominance in his chest.

“I dunno what you did or what’s happened, but you better get it figured out. Joey doesn’t have time for drama.” Joe waved Q away while he dispatched for his third plate of food.

Q huffed. “Yeah I’ll definitely be getting to the bottom of this, trust me.”

 

_Write me an endless song_

_(When you let go)_

How _quickly_ Q was going to “get to the bottom of this,” however, was beginning to fall under scrutiny. Another day went by, then another two, then another week. The tension between the group felt as if it were at an all-time high. Joe and Murr constantly seesawed between Q and Sal, since by this point the two of them hardly spoke to each other, besides when they absolutely _had_ to. Sal’s eyes seemed to be permanently puffy, the lack of sleep and the absence of emotional stability skewing his entire life over the last two weeks. Q found himself equally annoyed and depressed. The nights of Sal waking up were now happening once in a while and not every single night, but Q still found himself waking every hour, greeted by the same irritatingly red alarm clock no matter where they went.

By the fourth time he had woken up on this specific day, soft sunlight was filtering in through the curtains, sending slits of light across his body. 7:39AM. Q rustled in the covers, the soft sounds of fabric on fabric waking him up gently. He sighed, knowing that if he didn’t get up now that he would just have to deal with annoying texts from everyone else later. Sal slept on the opposite side of the bed, his body scrunched up so closely to the edge of the mattress that Q felt a slight breeze would knock him cleanly off. Q’s emotions varied from day to day. Some days he felt embarrassingly depressed about that unbridgeable distance that had formed between himself and Sal, and other days he was ruthlessly annoyed by it. Today he felt depressed.

Q found his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower, the hissing water and the rising puffs of steam making the room get humid. He disrobed, rubbing the scruff along his cheeks. “I need to shave, maybe…” He thought to himself aloud. “But maybe not…” Q sighed lazily, the realization that he probably _should_ shave registering in his mind, but the motivation to actually get it done lacking completely. “Oh well, I have to live up to the homeless aesthetic anyway.” Q tried to joke with himself, tried to lift his own spirits, and it wasn’t working. Q thought long and hard about the last week or so, and how things had suddenly started slipping through his fingers. One afternoon, he had walked in on Sal begging Joe to switch rooms with him, claiming he just “needed a change of pace,” however, Q knew that what he really should have said was that he “couldn’t take rooming with Q anymore.” Joe turned him down, insisting that if Sal took one step into his and Murr’s gross hotel room that he would change his mind instantly anyway. Q remembered Sal hanging his head dejectedly before noticing Q was actually in the room with them. The panic of being caught in the act of trying to avoid Q was plain on Sal’s face back then, and the horrible feeling was still etched into Q’s brain. He stepped into the water, his skin instantly going red. Q winced as the water bit at him, but thanked the distraction from his own thoughts—he truly didn’t bite the hand that fed him. He followed the order he always did when he cleansed himself: shampoo first, then conditioner, then body wash while the conditioner set. As outrageous and spontaneous as Q usually was, he was relieved he could sometimes fall back into the dullness of routine when he needed to. He stayed in the shower for as long as his scalding skin could handle it before he switched the water off and toweled his body dry. He redressed, took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door, the cool air of the hotel room washing over his skin.

Q’s heart sank a little in his chest when he rounded the small corner back into the room. Sal was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping his tired eyes with balled fists.

“Morning.” Q stuttered, his eyes locking with Sal’s momentarily before they both looked away.

Sal bit his lip, saying nothing.

“M—Morning…” Q tried again, walking to his suitcase and rummaging for some day clothes.

Silence.

Sal stood up awkwardly, unsure of whether or not he should make a bolt for it or stay where he was and just hope that Q would just bypass him. After a few ill-footed steps, Sal made a slow but steady pace for the door.

Something inside Q snapped. He caught up to Sal as soon as he was opening the hotel room door and pushed on it hard, the door slamming back into its indentation in the wall.

Q’s voice was harsher than he meant it to be. “We—We gotta talk _now._ ” As soon as the words flew out of Q’s lungs, he could see the panic set into Sal’s eyes.

“I—I—I can’t right now, I gotta go do—” Sal tried to backpedal, grasping at a way to get out of the trap that snared him.

“No, Sal!” Q’s eyebrows knitted, and he stepped between Sal and the door. “This shitty game has gone on long enough!”

Sal started backing away, rubbing at the back of his head. “What game—?”

Q started bridging the distance between them. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Do you realize that you haven’t said, like, ten words to me over the past two _weeks_?”

The back of Sal’s legs hit the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Sal sounded like a wounded animal.

“You’re lyin’! You’re fuckin’ _lyin’_ right to my face!” Although he was still a good foot away from him, to Sal, it felt like Q’s oppressiveness was mere inches away from swallowing him up completely. “You’ve been waking up almost every night with the sweating and the crying and the panting—and you think you’ve been hiding that shit from me, but you haven’t! You avoid me every single damn day! And you think _nothing_ is wrong? Damn, Sal, you must take me for a fuckin’ idiot!” Q realized that he had screamed his last response right into Sal's face as soon as the room fell silent, and his tense, angrily shaking body went stone cold as he caught the expression that had settled on Sal’s face.

Sal’s eyebrows were scrunched together, and he was biting down on his lip so hard that Q was afraid he’d break the skin, and before it could really register in Q’s mind what was happening, fat, wet tears were tumbling down Sal’s cheeks. It was then that Q understood that he’d released all his pent up frustration about the last two weeks on the man in front of him. Sal crossed his arms, almost as if trying to fold in on himself.

Q’s shoulders slumped, and he swiftly lifted his hands, hovering around Sal’s arms without touching him. “Oh god, Sally.” Q’s eyes darted to every part of Sal’s body that was crawling with anxiety—his shoulders, his arms, everything. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that.” His voice was lower, gentler.

Sal took a long, hard sniff and wiped his eyes harder than he probably should have. “I’m sorry.”

Now Q was trying to backpedal. “Don’t be sorry, Sally boy.” He put his hands on Sal’s arms, squeezing him.

What little grip Sal had on his composure broke, as if Q’s gentle touch was enough to send him tumbling, and a sob escaped his chest. “I’ve been really horrible to you, Q.”

Q ushered them both to sit on the bed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Q had his arm across Sal’s shoulders without the other man bucking it off. Q pulled Sal closer. “Tell me what’s going on, Sal.” He rubbed him. “Don’t make me worry anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sal apologized over and over as if it were the only thing he was able to say. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Suddenly, Joe and Murr’s accusatory words flashed through Q’s mind. “ _It’s all you._ ”

Q wanted to speak up, wanted to say “don’t be sorry,” but instead he stayed silent, waiting for Sal’s words to come.

“It’s stupid.” Sal managed, after a few minutes of rough breathing. “I’m being—I’m being stupid like I usually am.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I’m about to sound so dumb.” Sal had a self-deprecating smile on his face. “Those dreams were so realistic, they were so believable.” The smile melted away when another wave of crying washed over Sal, his voice cracking. “They were the kinds of dreams that just didn’t go away when you woke up.”

Q’s suspicions all along were confirmed, the dreams were the root of Sal’s abnormal behavior. “What are they about, buddy?”

Sal hesitated. “I’m about to sound so dumb.” He repeated, then hesitated again.

To Q, the brief moment of silence felt much longer than it actually was. His heartbeat hammered loudly in his ears.

“They’re about you.” Sal mumbled, almost sounding unsure of himself, unsure of his declaration.

Q was taken aback and not all at the same time. “Me?” He sounded dry. “What about me?”

Sal shook his head, as if he had already said too much. “It’s dumb—It’s so dumb.”

“It’s not dumb.”

“I can’t tell you.” Sal spat. “I just can’t tell you right now.”

Q wanted to get the answers out of him, he wanted to pull out whatever was gnawing at Sal and lay it to rest, but when another hazy crash of sobbing hit Sal again, Q held his tongue.

Sal continued. “Just not right now. I’m sorry. I’ve been so horrible to you.” He was a broken record. “Don’t leave me… right now.”

Q pulled him into a hug, one hand on the back of Sal’s neck, his other arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, as if his grip on Sal alone was what was keeping the other from completely coming apart at the seams. Sal gripped the back of Q’s shirt as he pressed his face into his shoulder, the tears blending in with the water that had already dripped from Q’s showered hair. Q took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of day old cologne and hairspray that had clung to Sal. The two sat that way for what seemed like hours, Sal clinging to Q like he was a form of life support.

Nothing was right. Everything was still wrong. No definitive answers were given. Q wasn’t sure if what was happening was a step forward, a step backwards, or no step at all. But in the moment, it didn’t matter, and Q filed his questions away for the time being.


	3. Decision

By the time the group had returned to New York on a bright Friday afternoon, the turbulent waters of the last several weeks seemed to have finally died down. When Joe and Murr started seeing Q and Sal begin to talk to one another again, the two of them shared a collective sigh of relief, thankful (and hopeful) that whatever had transpired between the two had finally come to an end. Sal’s fit of crying in front of Q changed quickly enough from a heartfelt moment to drinking to forget. The days after that were blurry memories of extremely late nights and long, hungover days. In fact, it wasn’t even as if Q and Sal had officially sat down and talked through what was going on. Instead, the two decided to bury the hatchet with liquor, hoping that the fun, careless nights of inebriation would calm the torrents between them. They both knew it didn’t completely work, but at least it had worked _enough._

Q and Sal’s heels clicked along the sidewalk as they went back towards their neighborhoods, a lighthearted banter bouncing back and forth between them. Spring had finally arrived after an especially brutal winter season in the good state of New York, and all around them were flower buds beginning to poke their way out of the dark soil. All the trees in the park were covered with blossoms, a light rain of the pink, red, and white petals fluttering in the gentle, constant breeze.

Q took a deep breath. “Sure feels nice, huh, buddy?”

Sal nodded, his hands in his jacket pockets. “Sure does. I wanna be able to enjoy this time before it becomes—”

“Hot as all hell?” Q laughed.

Sal smiled back. “Exactly. It’s almost like it’s even harder to concentrate on doing the show when it feels like we’re knee-deep in the devil’s ass.”

Q clapped his hands and tilted his head back as he chuckled. “You got that right. No one is gonna want to deal with a bunch of hot, middle-aged, sweaty men.”

Sal nodded, squinting up at the sun. “Only god knows how we haven’t been blinded with pepper spray yet.”

“Only time will tell, my friend.”

They both stopped at a crossroads, the same spot where they usually diverged to head back to their own homes. Q and Sal faced each other, bathed in the sunlight that shone down from a cloudless, blue sky.

“Well, it’s been a great past few weeks.” Q began.

Sal smiled and agreed, knowing that they both were skimming over the unfortunate things that happened, as if blocking it out altogether made it not real.

“Another successful tour.” Sal opened his arms for a hug, and Q obliged, leaning in friendlily. “Go enjoy your days off, Q.”

Q pulled Sal in close, patting his back several times before giving him a reassuring squeeze. “You too, pal.” He paused “Hey, you call me if you need me.”

Sal was tempted to roll his eyes, but instead he exhaled a small laugh. “Will do.”

Q pushed away, determined not to linger too long. “All right! Go on and get outta here. I’m sure you’re excited to go home and dust, or something.”

Sal scoffed. “ _And_ sweep, you jerk. Go back home to your cats, old woman.”

They began walking away from each other, calling out rebuttals as they went.

“At least I’ve got something to go home to!” Q teased.

Sal pointed at Q, half turned around. “Hey, I’ve still got that dead fish in my freezer! I’m not alone!”

Q laughed and waved him off, turning around for good. The two of them walked for a good distance before Sal looked back, spotting Q’s body slowly start to blend in with the massive array of people. He watched until he could no longer identify Q’s back from someone else’s, and then watched some more before he could no longer see his hat bobbing along in the crowd. Soon, Sal was alone, and people were bypassing him left and right. He took a deep breath, turned around, and joined the flow, taking the left and right turns that were engrained into his memory on how to get home. By the time he was dragging himself up the front steps of the townhome nestled into a small grove of neighborhoods, he was feeling especially, overwhelmingly tired. Sal dug through his pockets for his keys, unlocked the front door, and stepped into the small foyer. He closed his eyes and let the door close behind him, his fingers instinctively reaching back to lock the door for good measure. The house was warm and sparkling bits of floating dust could be seen in the slits of light that flooded in through the curtains. Although Sal was home, and glad to be home, there was always an uncomfortable lonely feeling that clung to him after he returned from spending long periods of time with the guys. It was in those moments, when everything had finally fallen silent, that Sal realized how much he cherished his friends, and oftentimes how much he took them for granted. While Sal donned his cleaning materials and began to work habitually to get his house back in order, he thanked his lucky stars that the others thought of him well enough to keep him around for this long, wishing upon the same stars that the uncomfortable things that happened over the tour never reared again. While he spritzed his kitchen windows with Windex, he promised himself, despite the feelings that he still couldn’t break away from, that he would never do anything to rock the boat of his friendships again. Sal wiped down the glass carefully, trying hard not to leave any streaks. He was almost thankful that a thin layer of dust had settled onto everything in the house. Sal welcomed the distractions from his own thoughts, and pushed away the anxiety he was sure to feel when he finally had nothing else to do later that night.   

However, miles away from a busily-cleaning Sal, Q poured himself a glass of whiskey and plopped down on his couch. “Hey, Benjamin.” He scratched gently behind the cat’s ears, the loud rumble of purring pleasing to Q. “Did you miss me? I missed you.” Q sipped his drink, welcoming the slight after-burn. Although the heavy drinking him and Sal had done over the past few days had done well to settle his tumbling thoughts in the moment, now that he was home, resting in a quiet environment, the clouds began to reform in his head again. He cursed aloud and put his glass down, choosing to scoop up his furry friend, hoping the attention he would give his cat would silence his stirring mind for at least a little while. Q, indisputably, was an overthinker. He had no doubt in his mind that his situation with Sal would continue to plague him until finally he mentally went dry. He hated it, and he would do anything to just bash the thoughts out of his skull. Q remembered Sal’s puffy, red eyes when he finally pulled away from him after his anxiety attack, the saddest smile he had ever seen forced onto his face. Q knew he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that, once again, he had cried like a baby in front of his best friend, embarrassed that, once again, he was unable to handle things on his own. In that moment, Q could feel Sal’s self-resentment filling the room, and Q remembered it feeling so suffocating and sad. He wanted to do something special, wanted to say the right things to Sal to get him back on his feet again, but instead he went to his fail-safe—“Hey, bud, dry those eyes. Let’s go have a drink, all right?” Even thinking back on it now, with Benjamin locked tenderly in Q’s arms, he hated himself for saying and proposing something so stupid. But Sal had obliged, he had done what Q said. He wiped his eyes and went drinking with him.

“I’m really dumb, Ben.” Q nuzzled close to his cat, his eyes screwed shut. “Why is it that I can say and do anything on the show, but I can’t even spit out the right words to my own damn best friend?”

Benjamin didn’t reply, and although Q knew that there was no way for him to, he was still disappointed. Although he was just getting home, just regaining his bearings from being on tour for what felt like forever, he was antsy to be sitting home alone by himself. So he began to pace through his house, Benjamin sticking close by his feet wherever he initially went. For an hour he walked around, whiskey in hand, going in circles through the living room and kitchen, then going up and down the stairs. He reminded himself pitifully of how he was at the hotel. For another hour he picked up his house, kicking dirty clothes into a corner, halfway making his bed, almost filling the dishwasher. Then he opened all the windows in his house and stared out of all of them, focusing on the distant sounds of birds chirping instead of his fuzzy, depressed thoughts. By the fourth hour he was drunk, and Benjamin was no longer following him, choosing to bask in the sunlight on Q’s bedroom windowsill. 5:43PM. He didn’t know what to do. Q had preoccupied himself for as long as he could, doing aimless things between the confines of four walls and a ceiling. He picked up his phone and held down the home button. Siri’s signature tone came through the speakers, Q’s unfocused eyes able to make out the automatic prompt on the screen that stated “What can I help you with?”

“Call F—Ferret.”

Siri tried to run the slurred words through its processor before coming up blank. Q tried again.

“Ferret. Call Ferret.”

Siri tried again and returned with the same result.

“Damn this thing.” Q berated his phone as if Siri was the one to blame. This time he went into his contacts, scrolled to Murr’s “affectionate” screen name, and held his phone up to his ear.

Q counted the phone ringing three, four, five times before Murr picked up on the other line.

“Q?” He almost sounded confused.

“Heeey!” Q drew out his greeting. “Murr, did you make it home?”

Murr was no fool, and over twenty years of knowing Q had honed his ability to know when the other wasn’t in a clear state of mind. “Why are you drunk?” He got right to the point. “It’s—” He paused, presumably to check the time. “like, not even six o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Ah, who _cares?_ ” Q leaned on his kitchen counter and accidentally knocked over a barstool. “Shit.”

“What the hell was that?”

Q continued, unfazed. “Did you make it home?” There was a moment of silence where all Murr heard was the shuffling of things on the other end of the phone. “Did I ask that already?”

Murr sighed, and if Q was sober, he’d be able to clearly imagine Murr shaking his head in disapproval. “I’m at the supermarket. I haven’t gone back to my apartment yet.”  

“Ohhh…” Q started off, and Murr knew where this was going. “You wanna come over?”

“I just got through being with you for the past, like, month.” To anyone else, it really would have sounded like Q was bugging Murr, but Q didn’t bite it.

“So, when are you coming over?”

Murr heard the distinct sound of ice clinking, as if a glass was being refilled. “I guess I’ll be over when I’m done. I gotta go drop off the stuff I buy though.” Murr sounded resigned.

“You gonna bring more booze?”

“You don’t need more booze.” Murr sneered back.

“You’re not my mom.”

Murr groaned, frustrated. “At this point I might as well be! Go sit down or somethin’. I’ll be there eventually.”

“All right, _mom_.” Q hung up and tossed his phone onto the counter, where, consequently, it tumbled off and onto the floor. “Stupid thing!” Q laughed drunkenly, even though he was irritated at his phone. “That’s what you get for not calling Ferret when I asked you to!”

 

_Signs of love overshadowed by dreams_

_Baby, don’t worry ‘cause you ain’t alone_

_Tears pass through_

Forty-five minutes went by with no sign of Murr. Benjamin had made his way back downstairs, partly because now Q was immobile and laying halfway off the couch, and partly because the sun had finally begun to set. Q’s head was almost on the floor, and one leg was strewn over the top of the couch, the other sprawled out on the armrest. Benjamin rubbed his head against Q’s lazily before ensnaring his claws into the rug and stretching. Q watched his cat upside down and pretended he was walking on the ceiling. The stupid thought was enough to make him laugh and send his dizzy head swimming.

“You’re a handsome man!” Q pointed at Benjamin, who just craned his neck to sniff Q’s finger. Simultaneously, Q heard his front door open and close.

“Idiot! You didn’t even have your door locked?” Q could hear Murr calling out to him from the entrance before walking into the living room.

Q used his other arm to point at Murr. “And there’s a not-so-handsome man!”

Murr gasped, feigning intense hurt. “How can you say such a thing when I brought pizza?” He raised the box in his hands.

Q sat up quickly and clumsily. “Holy shit! Maybe this will change my view of you after all, my little ferret.” Q extended grabby hands towards Murr.

“Stop calling me that.” Murr rolled his eyes and plopped down on the couch, nudging Q to scoot over so the pizza box could sit between them.

“How can I when it’s so easy?” Q popped open the pizza box, excited that Murr ordered extra cheese. “You _look_ like one.” Q pulled a piece out, strings of cheese clinging to the adjacent slices until he pinched them away.  

“Okay? You look homeless as fuck but you don’t see us—”

Q looked at Murr mid-bite.

“Oh.” Murr reached for a slice of his own. “You’re right we do call you homeless.”

The two of them shared a brief laugh before relaxing back into silence. Time passed, and the two sat with the TV on, only speaking up to react to something they had seen on the screen. Murr had brought the pizza in hopes to sober Q up a little bit, and thankfully, his foolproof plan seemed to be working for once. As the night went on, Q began to regain complete control over his faculties and speech (as much as he could with his inherent “speech impediment”). However, Murr thought that the relieved sigh he exhaled during the tour after he thought Q and Sal had made up perhaps happened too soon. He knew that it was still gripping and clawing at Q—the man was a drinker, Murr knew that, but he never really drank alone unless something was really bothering him. Murr had sat beside Q for hours on end, shifting and squirming slightly, knowing that he s _hould_ speak up and ask him about it. But whether he _would,_ was another story. Murr debated within his mind for what felt like a long time, weighing the pros and cons of letting his thoughts be heard. The way he saw it, there were only two paths this situation could go down: Murr could bring it up and Q would get off his chest whatever he had been thinking about, or Murr could bring it up and Q would get upset and shut him down.

 Murr took his chances. “Come on, bud. Go ahead and spit it out. I know something’s on your mind.”

Q turned his head just a little, glancing at Murr with uncertainty. “There’s—”

Murr raised his voice slightly over Q’s. “Before you try to give me an excuse, just know that it isn’t going to work.”

Q groaned as if he were a child being scolded. He imagined he felt just as Sal did when he confronted him in the hotel room—cornered.

“You know, I thought everything was okay—me and Joe both thought so. When you and Sal were drinking together all night and seeming okay during the day, we thought that everything was sorted out.”

Q tried to talk back. “Things _are_ settled.”

“If things were settled, you wouldn’t have been getting drunk by yourself in the middle of the damn day.”

Q had been trapped.

Murr continued. “You gotta tell me what you guys talked about.” He could almost see the electric current of uncomfortableness settle in Q’s spine. “Did you two even talk about anything?”

“Of course we talked.” Q lied. “Well, a little.” He remanded.

Murr crossed his arms, waiting for a continuation.

“What really happened was…” Q fidgeted. “I got up one morning and took a shower, and when I got out Sal was waking up. I said “good morning,” and he got up to leave the room without saying anything.” Q shook his head, almost embarrassed at himself for how the whole situation played out. “I ran after him and stood between him and the door. I, uh…” Q covered his mouth and nose with his hands before continuing. “I started screaming at him.”

Murr looked perplexed. “You _what_?”

Q nodded, ashamed. “I mean, I _really_ unloaded on the guy. I was sayin’ some things that I don’t even want to repeat to you, honestly.” He laughed awkwardly before looking like he really couldn’t go on telling the story.

“And? I know that’s not the end of it.”

Q looked almost pained, as if remembering the event was physically hurting him. “I was, like, standing on top of him, probably looking so angry. And the next thing I know he’s crying.”

Q could see Murr’s mouth drop open a little.

“Yeah, I see that look on your face.” Q shrugged and let his hands fall to his thighs. “You’re right. I made Sal cry.”

“Oh my _god_. Q, what the hell.”  

“I know, I know. Can you just not even remind me?” He sighed. “After he started crying I just… turned into Jell-O. I hugged him and apologized and we sat down, and—”

“Okay, so you did what any normal human being would do, good job.” Murr interjected.

“Ugh, well, of course I did.” Q started up again. “And he held onto me for almost a solid hour. I knew I had to ask what was going on…”

“Of course.”

“So, I was—I was patting his back and I said…” Q paused, embarrassed that he remembered his words so clearly, and embarrassed that he was about to tell them to Murr. “I said ‘Tell me what’s going on, Sal. Don’t make me worry anymore’.”

Murr chided him gently. “How lame.”

“Shut up, idiot.” Q shook his head. “You think I don’t know how lame that sounds?”

Murr shrugged. “Anyway…”

Q was clearly trying to hold back the words that were building in this throat, but he knew that if he didn’t go ahead and blurt them out that Murr would never let him live it down. “Sal said the dreams were about me.”

“So, he was having dreams…” Q watched the expression on Murr’s face morph into something he couldn’t pin down with a word. “About… you.”

Q nodded.

“That’s kinda…” Murr looked as if he were searching for the right word but came up empty. “weird.”

“It took me by surprise, too.” Q admitted. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“But what _did_ you say?”

“I asked him  about what was happening in the dreams with me.”

Murr looked reserved, almost cautious waiting for an answer.

Q carried on. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

For a moment, Murr looked relieved.

“But he kept saying ‘It’s dumb, it’s so dumb,’ so I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, it’s obviously bothering you.” Murr started munching on a piece of crust that Q had discarded.

“You think?”

“Well,” Murr started off, touching his own chest. “in my _very professional_ opinion, I wouldn’t try to force it out of him. If it happens it happens, if it doesn’t it doesn’t.”

They weren’t exactly the words that Q wanted to hear, but he sighed in defeat, unable to dispute anything Murr was saying.

“Yeah.” Q breathed. “I guess you’re right.”

Although Murr knew that Q had his own demons that he struggled with, it was always so very _strange_ to see Q emotionally compromised. It made Murr tense up, it made him unsure of what to even say to him. The brisk, rough Q that the rest of the world knew was absolutely nowhere near what Murr was face-to-face with right now. In fact, that version of Q seemed so far away that Murr almost doubted its existence. There was a silence between them that was starting to grow thick.

Murr spoke before it got too suffocating. “Hey, don’t worry about it.” He put his hand on Q’s shoulder in a friendly, albeit distant, gesture. “I know it’s easier said than done, but you can’t let this eat at you.”

Q stared at his hands while Murr continued.

“And if Sal seems better, then that’s all that really matters, right?”

That line seemed to stick inside Q’s mind for some reason. He bounced it around in his head before finally speaking. “Yeah, that’s very true.” Suddenly, it was almost as if (as embarrassing as it is for Q to admit) Murr’s words were able to break through the deep fog that had been enveloping his mind. “Thanks, Ferret.” Q responded coarsely, feeling the need to hide his relief.

Murr squeaked. “I give you the best advice of your life, and that’s what I get?” Murr puffed up his chest, only half offended. “This is why you’re gonna die alone.”

Q reached for another slice of pizza, realizing the box was becoming very empty. “There are a ton of reasons why I’m going to die alone—me being mean to you isn’t the only one.”

Murr deflated a little, laughing. “I guess it doesn’t matter… Especially if what I said helped you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting all sappy on me. That niche is reserved for Sal. We have to keep everything in balance.” Q responded, almost knowing that he had been acting outside of his “character.”

The rest of the night flowed slowly along, the two of them sharing idle chatter about nothing and everything. Q could feel himself starting to get better, and he thanked Murr mentally for—for once—actually saying the right thing.

 

_Signs of love overshadows my dreams_

_Baby, don’t worry ‘cause you ain’t alone_

_Tears pass through_

2:03AM. Murr had been yawning for the past thirty minutes, and somewhere along the line he had sprawled out on Q’s couch. They had been watching the same channel for so long that, at midnight, they noticed the shows starting to recycle.

Q poked the top of Murr’s head. “Hey, get up, it’s late. Don’t you need to go home?”

Murr groaned, stretching his limbs in every direction, barely missing Q’s face with his fist. “I guess so. I can’t stay here?”

“Absolutely not.”

Murr whined. “But I brought you pizza.”

Q held up a finger, mimicking a “eureka!” stance. “Oh yeah, take that pizza box with you when you go.”

Murr sat up quickly. “Hey! That’s not cool, man!”

Q stood up, slowly followed by the other. “Yeah, well, I thought we established a long time ago that I wasn’t really cool.”

“You’re awful.” Murr complained as he put on his jacket, even though he was overwhelmed with relief that Q was feeling okay again. “Try not to be late to work on Monday morning.”

“Doubtful.” Q walked to the door, pizza box in hand.

Murr put his shoes on and stepped out of the door, turning back to say his goodbyes. “I know. I’ll see ya—wait, are you seriously gonna make me take that with me?”

“Yep.” Before Murr could reject him, Q pushed the pizza box into his chest and closed the door. “Bye, Ferret. Thanks for everything tonight!” Q sounded sarcastic and almost harsh, but on the inside he really meant what he was saying.

“Asshole!” Murr’s muffled voice reached Q’s ears as he laughed. “See the next time I do something nice for you again!”

Q locked the door and heard Murr bounce down the steps and walk off into the distance, his muddled complaints dying down as he got further away.

Q scooped up Benjamin and planted a kiss on his head as he made his way upstairs. A cool night breeze was fluttering Q’s window dressings as he prepared for bed, the haziness of sleep deprivation trying to force his eyes to close. His room smelled comforting, the familiarity of it beginning to lull him, thankfully, into relaxation. He placed Benjamin on the pillow beside his own, where he immediately walked in one circle before settling. Q swapped the shirt he had sat in all day for a baggier one, and stripped out of his sweatpants to his plaid boxers. He crawled into bed, said his goodnights to Benjamin, and turned his bedside lamp off. Q sighed easily, the white noise of cars driving on the street giving him something to listen to. He closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side, thinking almost fondly of Murr’s advice. Yes, as long as Sal was feeling back up to speed, that’s all that really mattered. With that in mind, Q found himself drifting into a calm sleep for the first time in what felt like a long time.

Meanwhile, several miles down the road, Sal wiped roughly at his tearstained cheeks.

 

_Every time you look at the picture in the frame_

_Gaze in fascination so hard_

_You still think that it’s nothing but love_

_Rain still falls_

Monday came, and Sal found himself waking up from a particularly restless sleep. His room smelled cloyingly of lemon scented wood polish, and he almost still felt the dampness on his covers from all the Febreze he had sprayed the day before. He turned his face into his pillow, doing his best to block out the unforgiving, bright sun that had woken him. Although his mind was hazy, Sal hesitated greatly looking at his phone, all but _knowing_ he had severely overslept. He laid that way for a few extra-long minutes before groaning and reaching for his phone. The numbers at the top of the screen read 11:10AM, and the subtext underneath it showed the notification “15 new messages.” Sal groaned as he opened them all, the realizations of his actions, or rather, his lack of action, finally dawning on him. He looked at the messages from Joe first.

7:45AM. “ _Good morning, sunshine. You better get down to the set soon before I eat all the breakfast_.”

8:20AM. “ _I’ve officially eaten all the jelly-filled donuts and twelve strips of bacon. No one can stop me now_.”

8:53AM. “ _Sal, are you even awake? I’ve gotten responses from everyone else already, even if none of them are here yet…_ ”

9:11AM. _“I’m not sure if I should try calling you. I know you hate being woken up by your ringtone_.”

9:33AM. “ _Murr is here and he’s been fussing over his eyebrows in the mirror for the last five minutes. Where are you, seriously?_ ”

10:05AM. “ _Q just texted me that he’s stuck in traffic but that he’ll be here soon. Still no word from you. You all right?_ ”

10:53AM. “ _Sal, if you don’t respond soon I’m not sure what we’re going to do. Q is here, too. We’re all waiting on you_.”

Sal blinked slowly, a little bit of guilt starting to coil in the bottom of his stomach. He checked Murr’s messages next.

9:15AM. “ _I got my eyebrows done yesterday, when are you gonna get down to the set to look at them? Joe said he’s been texting you all morning. Where you at, bud?_ ”

10:10AM. “ _I think Q’s on the way now. At least that’s what Joe said_.”

10:58AM. “ _The set is pretty tense right now. We’re all just sitting here waiting_.”

10:59AM. “ _Uhm, are you okay?_ ”

Sal’s thumb hesitated before returning to his message log, knowing that the remainder of the texts _must_ be from Q. He sighed as he saw Q’s name at the top of the screen, a notification beside it, indicating that his suspicions were correct.

9:04AM. “ _Hey, I just woke up. Want me to pick you up for work? I’m assuming you haven’t left yet, hahaha. At least we can be late together_.”

9:48AM. “ _I guess you’re not awake yet. I’m gonna head out without you_.”

10:55AM. “ _I just got to the set. Everyone’s saying that they can’t get in contact with you. You okay? Where are you?_ ”

11:06AM. “ _I’m getting worried, idiot. At least respond to someone’s messages_.”

Sal put his phone face down and rose up in bed, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. He had set multiple alarms to go off before 8:00AM, but he seemed to have slept through all of them. Sal shook his head, the guilty thoughts of everyone wasting time down at the set for him spreading through his veins.

“I’ve gotta get up.” He coached himself out of bed and into the bathroom, where he immediately started brushing his teeth. “You’ve got responsibilities, Sal. Be an adult.” Sal spoke around his toothbrush as he started the shower, mouth full of white foam. He tried to bathe and get dressed as quickly as he could, willing himself to push back his mental deterioration for the time being, convincing himself that being on the set and doing some fun things with the guys would lift his spirits. Sal was out the door and texting while walking by 11:37AM. The set was a good distance away, but he didn’t want to, god forbid, get stuck in traffic for an hour and have no way to escape it.

“ _I’m sorry. I’m on the way to the set right now_.” Sal tapped at his phone screen, responding to Joe’s long stream of messages as he walked speedily, only looking up to make sure he didn’t plow directly into somebody. It took no time at all for Sal’s phone to buzz in his hand.

“ _Finally!! We for sure thought you were dead_.”

Sal shoved his phone into his pocket after reading the message, focusing instead on dodging around people on his way to a building uptown. He tried to not beat himself up over the fact he was severely delayed coming to work, but it seemed the more Sal tried to _not_ think about it, the more he _did._ 12:03PM. When Sal burst into the set room doors, he bent over with his hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

“There the hell you are!” Murr’s high-pitched voice bounced off the walls and into Sal’s ears.

Sal did nothing but raise a hand in recognition, still doubled over. The entire room seemed to exhale at the same time, and everyone started bustling around to get the show started. Although the makeup crew went flying towards Joe, Murr, and Q, the three of them found themselves marching right up to Sal instead.

Sal straightened himself. “Nice eyebrows, Murray.”

Murr, for once, ignored the compliment. “What the hell, man!”

Joe started fussing, too. “You know how worried I was for, like, five minutes?”

Q said nothing, but instead kept his hands on his hips, a mixture of scolding disappointment and unbeknownst apprehension on his face.

“I’m sorry, be mad at me later, okay? I don’t want to hold up the program any longer than I already have.” Sal looked at nowhere else but the floor as he broke past the semicircle that had surrounded him. One of the makeup department people pulled him into a chair in front of a bright mirror and started to get him ready for filming. No one could dispute what Sal had said, and with no other words, the rest of the group was dragged about by the remaindering Impractical Jokers crew.

Nearly an hour later and the group was thrust into the streets of New York, ready to ensue a challenge. They stood on the edge of a sidewalk, the bustling road behind them as they filmed the intro to the challenge. Sal’s lines were easy, and he could have honestly improvised them if he needed to, but by their third take, Sal was rubbing his face with his hands and the others were giving him side glances.

Joe teased him warily. “Hey, bud, I know you’re having a rough day but come on.”

“Nah, you’re right.” Sal squared his shoulders. “I’m gonna get it this time.”

Thankfully, after one more try, Sal successfully completed his lines and they all dispatched to a secluded part of the park to discuss what they were about to do. Murr went out into the park first on a challenge where he was trying to get someone to repeat a word to him.

Q grabbed the mic from Joe, who was standing in the middle like he usually was. “Murr, your word is ‘skeet.’”

“Oh my god, guys, come _on._ You might as well go ahead and give me a thumbs down for this one!”

Joe grabbed the mic back. “Yeah, well you’ll probably get a thumbs down anyway but we need to see you embarrass yourself first.”

Q and Joe started laughing, and Sal did, too, after a slight delay. They all watched Murr go up to different people and try to talk his way into getting someone to say such a ridiculous word. Meanwhile, Sal subconsciously berated himself in his mind at how distant and unfocused he probably looked on camera right now, and he almost cringed at the thought of seeing himself on TV when what they were filming went to air. Sal leaned over into the mic, looking out at Murr all the while.

“That guy looks like he’s about to deck you in the face if you make one more penis reference.” Sal laughed a little more honestly than he previously had, and he was grateful when Joe and Q chuckled as well.

When Murr was finally brushed off by the third person he talked to, the others called it quits for him.

“Sorry, my man, no dice.” Q grinned as he spoke into the microphone, and Sal looked at him from his peripheral vision, glancing away quickly when Q met his eyes.

Murr made his way back over to everyone whilst shaking his head. “What a stupid word! I knew it was never gonna work!” He pouted.

Q reached behind Joe to pat Sal’s back. “You’re up, buddy.”

Sal jumped and straightened himself suddenly, as if he had been hit by an electric shock. “Oh, yeah!” He gave a strange look to the rest of them.

Sal left the small alcove of bushes where everyone was hiding and stepped out onto the busy walkway. He paced around leisurely while the others started discussing what word they were going to plague him with, indistinct, unintelligible chatter coming through his ear piece.

“All right, Sally.” Q’s voice rang in his ear, and Sal’s heart started hammering in his chest. He turned away from where he knew the cameras were, determined to hide whatever look was on his face in the moment. “Your word is ‘syphilis.’”

Sal shook his head and turned back into the camera’s view. “What the hell is this, Impractical Jokers: Sex Edition?”

Sal heard the others laugh in his ear before Murr’s voice told him to get to work. The challenge was a stunning failure for Sal, but given his current mood, it didn’t surprise him at all. Joe knocked it out of the park, as did Q—it seemed they were both destined to be the only ones from the group who could simply do _everything_. After that, they went into a local supermarket for another round of the pencil game. Sal was the only one to lose, and when everyone could see him start to get frustrated, they decided to call for a lunch break. They all went back to the original set where the group sat around a table and ordered lunch. Joe ordered chicken alfredo, a soda, and three chocolate chip cookies, Q got a sub with some chips and a bottle of water, Murr a salad, and Sal a sandwich, fruit cup, and Snapple.

When they were done relaying their requests to one of the staff, light conversation filled the space between them. Although Sal probably seemed to be a part of the chat, the only thoughts that were filling his mind were about how Q’s knee was touching his own. He bounced in and out of the discussion, speaking up again when he realized he had been silent (and probably bothered looking) for too long. As badly as Sal didn’t want to admit it, he felt that he was being obvious about the fact he was troubled, even though he had preached all day long that he was fine. As soon as lunch arrived, Sal thanked the heavens that he finally had an excuse to go mute, but when he realized half way through his sandwich that Joe had been watching him, a flash of anxiety found its way into Sal’s chest.

The day continued, and one more challenge (and three consecutive losses) later, Sal was determined “tonight’s big loser.” Murr grinned evilly as he started teasing Sal about what his soon-to-happen punishment was going to be. Sal groaned, defeated and tired.

“I’m over it. I’m so over it.” Sal looked at the ground and waved his hands, frustrated. “Today is just not my day.”

Q and Joe took long looks at Sal before Murr jumped over to Q’s side energetically, pulling his attention away from the grumpy man before them all. Sal started collecting his things, ready to go home for the day, Joe keeping a suspicious, close eye on him. By the time Q was brushing Murr away, Sal was making his way to the door.

Q bounced over to Sal, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. “Hey, let me drive you home since it’s on the way.”

From a distant corner in the room, Joe watched Sal’s reaction.

Suddenly, Sal’s mind started processing responses like a computer, and he probably looked like he was taken aback by Q’s offer. His first reaction was to quickly decline, but he bit his tongue, realizing that that wasn’t a good idea, especially if he was trying to get over (or rather, keep the impression that he had _gotten_ over) the tour mishap. So, instead, Sal smiled and obliged, reaching up to punch at Q’s side friendlily. Joe, however, took careful notice of how Sal initially reacted to Q’s question and watched the two men walk out of the set together, Q’s arm slung lazily across Sal’s slightly slumped shoulders.

 

_He said, “I’m the one who’s got to leave.”_

_I said, “Nobody’s really got to leave, ‘cause I don’t need an explanation,_

_all I need is admiration.”_

Sal continued to stay in his rut for weeks after they had returned back from tour, and somehow, Joe was the only one to catch onto it at all. However, this realization may have stemmed from the fact that he noticed Sal “correct” himself whenever Q ended up near him. Joe had brewed his eventual confrontation with Sal about what was happening in the back of his mind for quite some time, but it was today, a cold and brisk Saturday, that he was going to act on his suspicions. He stood standing outside of Sal’s home, his finger hovering in front of the doorbell. Joe knew, almost with one-hundred percent certainty, what conversation he was about to have with Sal, but instead of letting the thoughts consume him, he pushed onto the button mounted beside the door. He waited for several minutes, knowing how wary Sal was when it came to people coming to his home, and sure enough, a small amount of time later, Sal was opening the door with a confused look on his face.

Joe grinned. “I know you said on your podcast that you hate when people drop by unexpectedly, but I knew if I let you have a heads up that I was thinking of coming over that you would say no.”

Sal sighed, almost annoyed at how obvious he was in everything that he did in life. “What’s up, Joe?” He stepped aside to let the man in.

Joe crossed the threshold and took his shoes off by instinct. “Nothing much. It’s been a little while since I’ve spent some quality time with just you, so…”

Sal closed the door, a little suspicious of, perhaps, some ulterior motives that Joe was holding back.

“I was just picking up around the house.” Sal said.

Joe looked around, and a twinge of something he couldn’t explain starting pulling at his stomach. The house was _immaculate._ It was no secret that Sal was a clean guy, and that he liked to have things in order, but the condition of the house was something that Joe, or anyone else for that matter, had probably never seen before. While Sal usually had things in their proper place, everything stored away in its right home, currently the entire house seemed almost sterile. Joe knew. He knew that the state of the house was a direct result of Sal’s immediate frame of mind—he cleaned the house spotless, then cleaned it again, the coping mechanism settling somewhere between habitual and compulsive.

“Damn,” Joe began stepping deeper into the house, eyes shifting from every corner of the rooms to eventually land on Sal’s face. “I think this is as spotless as I’ve ever seen your place.”

Sal shrugged, and Joe held his gaze.

“You think we could talk about something?” Joe didn’t want his question to sound so looming, but, immediately, he could almost feel the hesitation screw itself into Sal’s gut.

“Yeah, of course.” Sal sounded strained, as if someone other than himself was forcing him to speak.

Joe extended his arm towards the living room, almost like he was giving Sal permission to go somewhere in his own house. But he felt that if he wouldn’t have given Sal the go-ahead, that he would have remained frozen in his place in the hallway. When Sal reached the couch, he sat directly in the middle, and Joe sat across from him in a lounge chair, his arms folded in his lap loosely.

“Sal, we’ve talked about this before.” Joe started off easily. “So I’m expecting you to be _honest_ with me.”

Sal nodded sheepishly, knowing what was about to come out of Joe’s mouth next.

There was a pause before Joe spoke again, as if he was reassuring himself in his mind that he really did want to bring up what he was about to. “Over the past month now…” Joe wrung his hands together, trying to pick and choose his words carefully. “I’ve been noticing you…” He stopped again and looked around, realizing that he was beating around the bush. Finally, he inhaled, and said the words that Sal had been so desperately avoiding for over four weeks. “It’s about Q, isn’t it?”

By the time the last syllable hit Sal’s ears, he felt that the entire world had slowly stopped spinning and come to a dead halt in space. He could feel an embarrassing heat starting to rise to the surface of his face, and his palms starting to sweat. There was no escaping the gaze that Joe held on him. Just like when he was in the hotel room with Q, there was simply no way out of the situation. 

It wouldn’t help to stay silent, and Sal knew that. He knew that silence was more incriminating. But at this point it was not about trying to weasel a way out of his feelings, especially since the one in front of him was the (ever so affectionately called) baby blue-eyed man.

So, instead, Sal spoke, his voice on the edge of hoarseness. “You should have been a detective, Joey.” He laughed with no real humor.

Joe was gentle. “I don’t need to be a detective to know what’s going on.”

As badly as Sal didn’t want to hear those words, he wasn’t surprised by them in the least. “Yeah, I guess you really don’t. Is it that obvious?”

Joe shrugged a little. “Maybe not to Murr, but he’s a dumbass anyway and he thinks everything is fine again, and Q, well… I’m just not sure.”

Sal shook his head dejectedly.

Joe continued. “Maybe I’m just hyperaware because I know.”

Sal bit hard at the inside of his cheek. “Murr knows, too, but—I _really_ thought I was over this shit.”

Joe nodded. “I know you did, buddy.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sal sounded at the end of his rope. “I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks, and—and you see how this is affecting me.” He cradled his head in his hands. “I mean I know I lose a lot when we do challenges for the show… but I’ve been losing, like, every single one of them.”

Joe sighed, an insurmountable pity for Sal building up within him. “Is it the same stuff? What you’re going through, I mean.”

Sal nodded.

Joe pondered for several minutes, weighing his options. When his mind was set on something, he sat up straighter and leaned towards Sal. “You don’t want to hear this.” As soon as he had said it, he saw Sal’s body tense. “I _know_ you don’t want to hear this, but I feel like you need to. I think that… maybe… you should try talking to Q.”

“Ugh, Joe.” Sal’s response was almost a whine, as if he was trying to block out what Joe was saying. “I—I really can’t do that.” He swallowed and clamped his eyes shut. “I’m scared, Joey.” He admitted.

“I know, I _know._ ” Joe was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning over to put his hand on Sal’s knee. “It’s hard for me, too, you know. I’ve known about this since college, and it’s been hard to watch you struggle with this for years and years.”

Sal appreciated Joe’s sentiment, truly, but the thought of him being honest with Q was panicking. “Joey, I’m not sure if I can do this—that. What if it ruins everything? What will I do? What will we _all_ do? I’ll have singlehandedly destroyed our group with my—my nonsense.”

Joe let Sal’s anxious questions wash over him, considering them all. But to Joe, there was no other way around the situation. “Something has to be done, Sal. You can’t ignore this.” The next words landed heavily on Sal’s heart. “It isn’t going away.”   

 

_Cloudy sky overshadowed by rain_

_Baby, don’t cry_

11:48PM. A slow, draining week had passed since Joe’s talk with Sal. Sal had been running over the speech he was going to give Q in his mind from, seemingly, the moment he woke up to the moment he went to bed. Now, the four of them were all sitting at a bar, in a booth near the back corner with a table full of beer (and sodas for Joe). The night had just begun, and Murr was already starting to get tipsy, Q was working on his second Jack and Coke, and Sal was nursing the same beer bottle he’d had since they sat down.

“Hey, remember moustache?” Murray planted both his hands on the table, leaning over it towards Q.

Q put an elbow on the table and leaned as well. “Of course, idiot. That’s, like, the thing that defined our show for us in the beginning.”

“When people see you on the street and recognize you, do they say, ‘Hey, what’s up moustache’?”

“Duh, of course they do.” Q rolled his eyes. “People walk up to you all the time and say, ‘hey, shitty, ugly ferret,’ don’t they?”

Murr squeaked. “No, they do _not_!”

Joe and Q shared a hearty laugh, drowning out Sal’s weaker one. Joe knew what the night was going to entail for Sal, and he tried to act as nonchalant as possible, hoping that the alcohol would take the edge off Sal’s mind a little. The night progressed, and two more rounds of drinks later, Murr was exceptionally drunk. Joe had become Murr’s quick, improvised pillow, leaning on the man in support when the group finally decided to call it a night. Joe kept his arm tucked around Murr’s waist, essentially holding him up.

Joe shook his head. “I’m sure half way home he’s gonna need to throw up. Be glad you aren’t going to have to deal with any of that, boys.”

Sal, mostly sober, grimaced. “Ugh, don’t even start. Get him away from me.”

Joe’s body rumbled with a laugh, and Murr looked uncomfortable from the jostling movement. “Yeah, he needs to get in the bed, right?” Joe and Sal had an understanding of what was going to transpire when he and Q were finally alone. However, with Q standing right in the vicinity, Joe was unable to give Sal his best wishes, good luck. Instead, he shot Sal a reassuring look before heading down the street and back to his car.

Sal quickly tried to bury his rising panic, turning to a slightly buzzed Q. “Murray’s such a lightweight, huh?”

Q laughed. “Yeah, right? He fuckin’ sucks, as usual.”

Sal had hoped that Q wouldn’t get completely shitfaced that night, and he was grateful to hear that the other’s words weren’t slurring at all. If he was going to embarrass himself (which he was certain he was going to do, regardless), Sal at least wanted to hear Q’s honest, unbridled opinion. He wanted to get it over with.

Sal began walking back to where his and Q’s cars were parked. “Hey, can I talk to you about something real quick?”

Q shrugged. “Yeah, shoot.”

Instead of spitting it out when they were walking, Sal waited until the two of them were standing between their cars, ensuring that if he needed to make a quick escape he could.

Q leaned on the back of his car and smiled, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes. “What’s up, Sally.”

It hurt Sal that he was about to burst this bubble Q had put himself in, because he knew that Q believed—had _convinced_ himself—that he was better. The soft, brown eyes that looked at Sal, so full of support and undeniable friendship, were hurting his feelings, and as badly as he wanted to run away, wanted to turn tail and say “forget it,” he knew that Joe’s words were still ringing true in his head. The feelings weren’t going to go away.

“I feel bad.” Sal started, glancing downward.

Q reached out his hands. “What, like you’re going to throw up, or something?”

Sal waved him away, as if trying to clear the air of concern. “No, not like that.”

“Oh, well, then—”

“I feel bad because I haven’t been honest with you.” Sal blurted out, cutting Q off.

“You haven’t… what?” Q’s expression morphed into one of bewilderment.

This was it. This was _finally_ it. Sal could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, in his ears, in his fingertips. There seriously was no coming back from this moment. Almost as if he were about to die, he could see his entire friendship with Q flashing before his eyes—the initial awkward greetings, the times they laughed until they cried, the eventual fights and makeups. Sal tried to swallow down the sandy feeling in his throat, tried to convince himself that what he was doing truly was the right decision.

He took a deep breath. “Q, I’m sure you remember…” He kicked at the gravel that littered the parking lot. “On tour, when I was having a, uh, hard time.”

“Yeah, of course.” Q’s voice was soft, and Sal could tell that he felt like he was treading on thin ice.

“I have to be honest with you.” Sal repeated. “Those dreams that I said I had about you… I had them before then, more times than I care to remember.” Sal’s stomach twisted and turned, his body almost trying to tell him to stop speaking. “For a long time—damn, I’m really, _really_ ashamed to be saying this right now.” He stuttered. “Q, for a long time I’ve had these weird feelings that I just couldn’t shake off. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t rationalize them away.”

Q stood silently.

Sal’s trembling voice continued. “I didn’t choose to have these feelings about you, and—and I’m scared that I _do_. But, Q, I think I…” No turning back. “I think I like you more than I should. More than a _friend_ should.” He refused to lift his head to look at Q’s face, terrified of what horrible expression he was probably wearing.

Q was quiet for several minutes, and the silence that was stuck between them sent Sal’s emotions reeling. When Q spoke, he sounded dumbfounded. “You—You _like_ me? You have a _crush_ on me?”

Sal quickly tried to take control of the situation, floundering. “I’m sorry, Q. I’m _sorry_ you had to find out like this—find out in general.”

“This is—” Q looked around them, suddenly hesitant. “I don’t even know what to _think,_ Sal.”

The other stood as still as a statue, scared that one wrong movement while Q was talking would somehow set everything into an unrecoverable downward spiral.

“What do you even want me to say?” Q’s question was one that Sal didn’t expect.

“I—I don’t know.” Sal’s voice shook like a leaf. “What do _you_ want to say?”

“This is w _eird_!” Q was shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. “Sal, you’re my best friend! And you’ve been hiding this from me? You felt this way about me?” Q grasped at the loose, rapid thoughts running through his head. “Oh my god.” He paced briefly beside his Jeep, a nearby streetlight casting his shadow onto it. “This is so sudden—”

“I know, I’m sorry!”

“—I don’t know what to say to you right now, I don’t even think I could think of something if I tried.” Q’s voice wasn’t riddled with disgust or disdain. More than anything, it was filled with unbridled shock that, in the moment, he had no hopes of recovering from. “Look, you’ve got to—you’ve got to give me some time to think.”

“Brian, I’m really sorry, I—” Sal reached out to him.

Q recoiled, as if by instinct. He noticed immediately how his reaction reflected in Sal’s face, but he couldn’t do anything about it. “Sal, I’ve got to go.” He started fishing through his pockets for his car keys. “I—I’ll talk to you later. I just need some time to _think._ ”

Sal was frozen, his arm half extended, as he watched Q climb into his car without looking at him. When he heard the engine turn over and fire to life, it felt like a wall of regret had slammed into him. The moment the conversation started, to the current happening of Q pulling out of the bar’s parking lot, occurred within less than ten minutes. Sal stayed where he was, like something far away from this world was keeping him grounded in place. Everything around him was happening so fast and slowly all at the same time. He quickly put his hand over his mouth, a raging wave a nausea coursing through him suddenly. Sal was dizzy, and his free hand gripped the side of his car. He climbed inside, looped his arms around the steering wheel, and rested his forehead against it. The reality of what he had just done started sinking into his skin, stinging him. He thought back to several weeks prior, realizing that he had broken the promise he made with himself. Sal certainly had rocked the boat of his friendships once again.

Nothing would ever be the same.

 

_Countless tears falling down_

_You finally see_

_The signs of love_


	4. Partly Cloudy

His entire body shook on the way home. He knew he shouldn’t have been driving, he knew that he should have stayed where he was until he could get at least a sliver of a grasp on himself, but Sal had to get away from the scene of the crime. The longer he sat there in the aftermath of what had happened, the stronger the waves of nausea were hitting him. He couldn’t stay there, couldn’t sit and stare at where Q once was, the all too real images flashing in the back of his mind. So, he drove. He got away from the bar as quickly as he possibly could, breaching past the speed limit in some void attempt to escape what happened, trying to outrun the situation before it could really, _really_ catch him. By the time he was in front of his house, Sal’s breathing was so ragged that he wasn’t sure if he was actually getting air into his lungs or not. He knew he was mid-panic attack, and the small part of his mind that was still rational was telling him to calm down, take deep breaths, and try to relax. But something that was stronger than Sal was gripping him and wringing him dry. Everything played back in his mind at twice the speed and with twice the emotional severity. Every time he envisioned Q pulling away from his touch it felt like someone had reached deep into Sal’s chest and started jostling him, shaking up his insides. When the image of Q getting in his Jeep and leaving Sal in the parking lot without even so much as _looking_ at him simmered to the top of his mind, the tears burning in Sal’s eyes felt almost unbearable.

He couldn’t handle himself alone. Suddenly, even the small distance between his car and his front door felt unbridgeable. Sal’s clumsy fingers tapped at his phone, and when he held it to his ear, he tried to will himself to relax. He breathed in and out in time with the phone’s ringing.

Joe’s voice greeted him. “Buddy.” He was unreadable. Sal didn’t know whether his speech was laced with anticipation or worry. “How’d it go?”

Sal wavered, his emotions trying to bust free. “Bad.” He could hear Joe take a deep breath on the other line. “I think I need you, Joey.”

There was a silence, and Sal could hear a very drunk Murr in the background.

“He’s sick.” Joe responded.

A tremor hit Sal again. “I’m being serious.” He knew he sounded pathetic and childish. “I can’t do this right now, I can’t be alone right now.”

More of Murr’s slurred words crackled through the speaker and into Sal’s ear.

“Murray, get back in the damn bed!” Joe chastised him, his voice pulled away from the phone. “And drink that water. Go to sleep.”

Sal could make out Murr saying “Fuck you, Gatto,” before everything going silent again. By the time Joe returned to the phone, Sal was spitting his apologies.

“I’m sorry, Joe. I’m sorry. I think I made a mistake.”

“Where are you?”

Sal wiped his nose hard. “It went so horribly, I can’t believe—”

“Sal, _where_ are you?” Joe pronounced every word slowly and loudly.

“I’m at—at home… I’m in my car.”

Joe multitasked with getting Murr in bed and trying to calm Sal down all at once. “Stay where you are, okay? Don’t get out of the car. You listening?”

Sal nodded, even though he knew Joe couldn’t see him.

He continued. “I’ll be over there very soon.”

Sal’s voice crackled like a firecracker burning out. “Okay, Joe.”

The two hung up, and Sal sat with his head in his hands and cried—cried so loudly that he was _sure_ if anyone were to walk past his car they would hear him. Everything poured out of him at once, and he felt very similar to a sink that finally spilled over after having the faucet left on. The water had risen and risen, gotten higher and higher, until Sal couldn’t contain it anymore. He had burst. The minutes he spent in the car falling apart ticked by slowly, and somewhere along the way, Sal had noticed the night roll over into a new day. 12:21AM.

 

_When those eyes in the mirror stare back at me,_

_I’m reminded that the ghost of pride is clear to see_

_Wipe away the weakness_

_Will you let those scars define you?_

Finally, by the time Joe’s headlights were shining through the back of his car, Sal felt undeniably empty, like a hollow cavern where even your breath had an echo. Sal had his forehead on the steering wheel and his hands covering his face.

Joe got out of the car quickly and slammed his door shut. He made long strides to the driver’s side of Sal’s car and knocked on the window. “Buddy, you okay?”

Joe’s voice sounded more muffled than it should have in Sal’s ringing ears. He didn’t respond.

Joe took the liberty to open the car door, leaning down to get a better look at his friend. “Sal, hey, buddy, it’s me, Joey.” His voice was gentle and soothing, a far cry from his usual loud self. “Look at me.”

Sal lifted his head slowly, feeling as if he were rising out of a coffin. “Joe…”

He bit his lip when he got a good look at Sal’s tired face and cried-out, puffy eyes. A sudden feeling of guilt started rushing to the surface, and he immediately regretted advising Sal to admit his feelings to Q. But he tried to shake it away for now, focusing on getting Sal inside instead. “Come on, pal.” Joe started helping Sal out of the car, trying to get him on his feet.

When Sal stood, he felt dizzy, like the world was spinning and the ground was wobbling underneath his feet. He felt weak and tired and defeated.

“This is so pathetic.” Sal hung his head low as he walked beside Joe to his front door.

“It’s not. Be quiet.” Joe shushed Sal in a soft way. He had gotten the keys out of the ignition and was currently trying to fish out Sal’s house key to let them inside.

“Joe, it was so horrible.” Sal sounded like he was about to go over the edge again.

“Hey, wait until we’re inside, all right? Everything’s going to be okay.” He reached over and rubbed Sal’s back in circles as he pushed open the white door.

Everything still smelled clean and very much like a hospital, and Joe wondered if Sal even felt like this was his home. Nothing had Sal’s touch on it anymore. It didn’t smell like him or look delicately lived in, it seemed more like it had become devoid of anything and everything—like a computer’s hard drive after a magnet had been wiped over it. Joe suddenly felt very powerless, as if he was watching Sal’s life fall apart from the outside, unable to really make a difference, unable to really help him.

Joe bit at his lip briefly. “Come on, buddy. Why don’t you go lay down on the couch.” It wasn’t like Joe was giving Sal any option, he spoke while he was leading Sal into the living room, and finished the sentence by the time Sal was reclined into the corner of the sectional. “I’m going to go get you some water.”

When Joe left the room, Sal took in a deep, shuddering breath, fighting a losing battle with himself to keep his emotions under control. He pinched the inside of his arm, trying to give himself a scapegoat from his mind, but nothing seemed to be working. Sal felt like it was all about to swallow him up and he would float in this liminal state of horrible panic forever. Minutes passed, and when Joe returned with a glass of water, Sal was grateful he had dipped into another one of those calm, albeit short, moments where he felt he could at least take an easy breath and try to sort himself out.

Joe put the glass down on the coffee table, then picked it up and adjusted it again when he remembered Sal probably wanted it on a coaster. “Take a deep breath, bud. What happened?”

“Oh, god, Joey—Joey this must be a nightmare. I would have rather dealt with those dreams every day for the rest of my life instead of doing what I did tonight.” Sal covered his face again and sounded very close to crying. “It went so badly. What have I done?”

Joe hoped and prayed that Sal wouldn’t feel the overflow of guilt seeping out of him. Sal continued to ask what _he_ had done wrong, and how _he_ had ruined everything, but if Joe wouldn’t have pushed him into saying anything, they wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. He had hated seeing his best friend suffering with those feelings again. Joe knew how deeply Sal felt everything, how the simplest thing was able to send him into emotional turmoil. And, equally, Joe knew how much he _felt_ about Q, and therefore, he knew how much he suffered over him. Joe thought, he _believed_ , that if Sal could get his feelings out in front of the man that caused them, that something would change. And, something _did_ change, but not for the better. The fairy tale ending that Joe had been envisioning was all for naught. So, all he could do was bite his lip and feel guilty.

“Take a deep breath.” Joe repeated, half for Sal and half for himself. “And tell me what happened.”

Sal’s breaths shook and wobbled like powerlines in high winds, and he knew he probably looked the same as those powerlines, too—like one more stiff wind would send them snapping. “I asked—I asked him, ‘Can I just talk to you about somethin’ real quick.’”

Joe sat on the end of the couch closest to Sal’s head, nodding and giving a noise of recognition.

“I was so nervous, Joe.” He turned his head away, ashamed. “How couldn’t he tell I was shakin’ in my boots?”

“I think he really thought you were over what had happened on tour.” Joe tried to be some sort of voice of reason. “He really wanted to believe you were okay.”

Sal continued, subconsciously appreciating Joe’s words, but unable to express any gratitude in the moment. “Then I just spit it out…” Sal felt like he was talking with gravel in his throat. “I told him that I’ve had these _weird_ feelings for a long time that I just couldn’t get rid of.”

Saying it out loud again sent Sal into another crying fit. Joe leaned over and put his arm around Sal’s shoulders tightly, beginning to feel his pain.

“They’re not weird feelings.” Joe’s voice was that of a whisper. “They’re just what you feel. You can’t control them.”

Sal felt himself nod, but he wasn’t sure if it was just to do it or because he really wanted to believe those feelings were something out of his control.

“Why can’t I just get over it, Joey?” He sniffled. “Why can’t it just fade away?”

“I don’t know, pal.” Joe truly was at a loss.

Sal shook his head. “He was silent for a few minutes. And—And I was so scared that I just kept looking at the ground. I didn’t know what to expect—was he going to yell? Was he going to hit me?” Sal grasped at straws. “I didn’t want to see the disgusted look on his face.”

“I’m sure—I’m sure he didn’t look like that.” Joe spoke while his teeth were clamped to the inside of his cheek.

“Then he started saying things like, ‘You have a _crush_ on me?’ like it was something he couldn’t even stomach.” He hiccupped, a sob forced out of his lungs. “He sounded so put-off by everything I was saying. I was so terrified, Joe. I was so scared.”

Joe sat there, all the words he wished he could say locked up inside his mind.

“I just started apologizing immediately. I wanted to backpedal and play it off as a joke so damn badly.” Sal gripped the hem of his shirt. “But it was too late. When I saw his face—When I saw his face I knew the damage had already been done.”

Joe’s heart sank slowly into his stomach.

“I was apologizing as fast as I could. I didn’t know what else to say.” Sal suddenly cringed, as if something horrible had just resurfaced in his mind. “And I—oh, god, Joe, it was so awful—I reached out to him and he jerked away from me so quickly.” The tears streaming out of Sal’s eyes seemed unstoppable. “It was like something I had never seen him do before. He looked at me like I was some sort of disease.”

Joe’s mouth was open, but the words he wanted to say failed him. A feeling of anger and irritation towards Q was beginning to boil in the bottom of Joe’s stomach as he imagined how he treated Sal in the parking lot. Part of Joe’s mind was trying to tell him that it was just Q’s shocked reaction to something that was so out of the blue to him. However, having Sal, tense and drawn up and crying, right beside him, he was finding himself unable to feel anything other than brutal resentment because of how Q had damaged Sal.

Sal’s voice pulled Joe out of his thoughts. “Joe, am I really that awful?”

Joe was quick to get back into the swing of the situation. “Of course not. This is no fault of yours, all right? You have to believe that.” He rubbed Sal’s shoulders, trying to reign him back in. “What happened… It probably really shocked Q.”

Sal wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

“I can’t vouch for how Q treated you. I think it’s awful what he—what he did to you.”

The sympathy made the tight ball in Sal’s throat grow wider, and he struggled to swallow around it.

Joe continued. “It’s nothing you want to hear, buddy, but…” Joe realized while he was saying that that he had certainly been telling Sal a lot of things he probably _didn’t_ want to hear lately. The realization knocked him off balance and the words he intended to say momentarily left him. Although the guilt was trying to pull him down, he had no way to undo the past or take back the “advice” he had given Sal, so he forged on hoping what he planned to say were the right things. “You’ll have to just give it some time. I know you hate the waiting game, but time changes all things.”

For Sal, the thought of sitting around waiting for Q to say something was very similar to awaiting the death penalty. It was terrifying, and all it took was one pull of the trigger, one slip of the tongue, for any moment to become your _last_ moment.

Like Joe had said, time went on, and when he finally checked his phone, Sal had cried himself out and dipped into what was probably a very unrestful sleep. 3:39AM. When his phone went dark, Joe could see the apparent circles under his eyes. He was tired. As much time as he had spent helping Sal and Murr that night, which, admittedly, he had no problem doing, he realized he had forgotten to help himself. His mind was a thick forest of unfinished thoughts and sleepy fog. Joe used the rest of his energy to place a throw blanket over Sal and settle onto the opposite side of the couch, giving Sal the space he was sure he wanted. Although his head was a complete mess, it took only several moments for Joe to be pulled under the surface of sleep.

Even though the only two living bodies in the home were gratefully asleep, the tense air and trepidation from the night still hung in the air, stagnating everything around them. Beads of condensation slid down the glass of water and onto the coaster, untouched.

 

_Doubt is crying out, but I refuse to let it drown me_

_Wearing down my fight, ‘till nothing’s left_

_I stand gazing down at death_

 

Sal woke with what could only be described as an emotional hangover. His head was pounding and his throat was incredibly sore. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. The night before was a cluster of memories he was already trying to subconsciously repress. That’s when it dawned on him—someone should be in the room with him.

Sal pushed the blanket he didn’t remember covering up with away. “Joe?” He looked around the living room, the circumference of his vision still fuzzy and white. A voice didn’t respond to him. “Joe?” Sal tried again, a little louder, but nothing happened. Sal thought briefly that perhaps the intense panic attack had caused him to hallucinate the time he spent with Joe last night, but when he saw a slip of folded paper on the coffee table, everything, unfortunately, came rushing back to him. Sal stretched his arm and pulled the letter closer with his fingertips until he could snatch it from the table. He opened it up, and was greeted with Joe’s scraggly handwriting.

“ _Sal,_

_I’m sorry I had to run out on you. I’m not really a pretty face to wake up to anyway. I just remembered that I needed to pick up some food for Cannoli and Biscotti. They’re really spending my money like it’s coming out of my metaphorical wiener. Text me when you read this. I would have texted you this instead, but I didn’t want the noise your phone would make to wake you up. Plus, a handwritten letter is more personal, right? I hope today goes better than yesterday._

_Call me if you need me,_

_Joe_ ”

Sal smiled tiredly at the Impractical Jokers reference, appreciating Joe’s strong desire to try to perk him up. The next thing he did was check his phone. 1:19PM. No messages. He was very used to waking up to texts from Q, but the fact that he was looking at his empty phone brought the reality of the night prior back up in his mind. Any other day, Sal would have immediately chastised himself for sleeping so late into the afternoon, but he didn’t have the energy to scold himself. In fact, he would almost prefer it if he could just fall back asleep for another few days. But, sadly, he was awake, and he felt gross. He had gone to bed last night without showering or brushing his teeth. He felt just as disgusting on the inside as he did on the outside. Sal sat up on the couch, feeling like his head weighed much more than it actually did. He groaned and rubbed his neck, trying to knead the crick out of it. His body was incredibly uncomfortable, and the more Sal sat there the more he felt like the cried-on couch was trying to pull him back into everything that happened last night. Instead, Sal stood, his body wobbling slightly and his mind quickly going white from finally getting up.

“Ugh…” Sal covered his face with his hand and tilted his head downward while he squeezed his eyes closed and waited for the feeling to pass. When his vision came back, he started a slow ascent up the stairs towards the bathroom, where he turned on the shower and waited for the water to gain its temperature. He closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, looking at the phone he had gripped in his fist. Sal began tapping at it.

“ _Hey, Joey. I just woke up. Thanks for everything. Sorry about last night_.”

Sal stared at the screen, feeling that he should probably say more. But, as the room grew damp and humid, Sal released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding when he pressed “Send.” No more words came to mind. He simultaneously had so much to say and nothing to say. Sal reached for his toothbrush and paced around the small room while he scrubbed hard at his teeth, as if doing so would erase the words he had said to Q, as if doing so would rid his mouth of the poison he gave himself. When Sal spat into the sink and placed the Sonicare back into its charging cradle, he took the contacts out of his dry eyes—he was sure they were red, both from hours of sobbing in addition to the fact he wasn’t supposed to sleep with them in, but Sal refused to look at himself. He refused to look at his pathetic figure and slumped shoulders. He refused to see in the mirror what Q had to see last night. Just imagining it was enough to send Sal’s stomach lurching into his throat, so he cringed and tried to push it away as he put his phone on the sink counter. He felt beaten and bested by his own emotions, and as he disrobed, Sal cursed himself for being so fragile. As Sal stepped into the shower, he promised himself that he would try to get Q out of his head and just wait for something to happen, because eventually, something _would_ happen. Something would _have_ to happen. He swore up and down that he wouldn’t stare at his phone all day like it was a grenade waiting to go off in his hand.

Meanwhile, seven minutes deep into Sal’s shower, a reply from Joe showed up on his phone that he wouldn’t read.

“ _Hey, buddy. Glad to see you’re awake. Don’t worry about last night, okay? I’m sure everything will be fine soon.”_

_They say “fight for peace,” but what is that?_

_Hold my ground, all I got now_

_But I’m defenseless, all but helpless, if it gives beneath my feet_

Q walked back and forth between his front door and living room. He had been ambulating for so long that he was almost certain that if he took a step back he would notice a rut beginning to form in the floor. Thirty-seven minutes ago, his hands were shaking as he texted Murr to “get over here quick, this is a for real emergency,” and currently, Q was pretty sure his hands were shaking even worse. Benjamin sat perched on the top of the couch, turning his head left, right, left, right, left every time Q would make his rounds through the living room and back towards the house’s entrance. Cats were extremely intelligent, and Q knew that Benjamin was sensing the intense aura that was emanating off him and was steering clear, only watching from a distance. He wanted to sit down. He wanted to lean back into the couch with Benjamin, take a deep breath, sip a stiff drink, and just relax. But it was impossible—Q felt like a coiled spring that was only a second away from snapping under all the pressure. His teeth were clenched so hard that, in the back of his mind, he knew he would have an achy jaw tomorrow.

When Q heard a rapid, nervous knock on the door, he jumped so badly that Benjamin skittered a little as well. He attempted to get out a verbal recognition of the sound, but he stumbled over his words and accidentally bit his tongue sharply. Q winced as he half jogged to the door and swung it open. There stood Murr, and the air he brought with him was completely different than his last visit. He had no pizza clutched in his hands, and he had no smart remark to immediately say to Q. He didn’t even barge in like he did last time. Instead, he stood with his arms tensed, fists clenched, and knuckles white. The two of them held their breath and looked at each other for a long moment before Q stepped aside and let a very stiff (and slightly hungover) Murr walk through the door.

“Sorry.” Q’s voice was tight. “I know you’re not feelin’ too good.”

“No, no.” Murr sounded equally as nervous, and he hoped his tone wasn’t telling. “I don’t feel too bad anyway. Your text really scared me, what’s wrong?”

Q rapid fired his thoughts. “I knew it. I knew somethin’ was up. I don’t know how I didn’t notice—I don’t know how it slipped past me.”

Murr stared.

“I just don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to even say. I didn’t sleep a damn _wink_ last night! I can’t stop thinkin’ about it!” Q threw his arms in the air, frazzled.

“Uh, hey…” Murr started patting at the air between them. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.” Murr thought he sounded very robotic as he spoke.

Q stood for another moment as he held Murr’s gaze, then sat down very fixedly.

Murr took to another chair, choosing to keep a bit of distance. “What have you been going on about?”

“Oh, my _god,_ Murray.” Q scrubbed at his own face. “This is some sort of hellish nightmare that won’t end.”

Murr bit his lip.

“Sal told me…” Q felt his throat close, almost as if his body was rejecting him even _saying_ it. “Sal told me that he…” He tried to venture onward. “Sal told me that he has _feelings_ for me.” When Q finally said it, he felt embarrassed, like someone in high school who just admitted something and then immediately regretted it.

Murr swallowed and tried to get rid of the sandpapery feeling that was lining his throat. He knew that one day this might happen. He and Joe had discussed it many times before and had even gone so far as to create an action plan of what to do when, or if, it came to fruition. But now that it was here, now that it was playing out before their very eyes, Joe and Murr felt themselves mentally slamming the panic button over and over again. Joe had told him a couple days ago that Sal was preparing himself to have the talk with Q, and Murr remembered the look of complete anxiety and apprehension that seemed to be permanently stuck on Joe’s face in that moment. Their action plan was nowhere to be found. Everything was in turmoil once again.

Murr realized he had been silent for an abnormally long time when he caught Q staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

He dug through his mind for anything. “How…” He felt blank. “When did this happen? Sal has feelings for you?” Murr tried his hardest to make it sound like he hadn’t already known that for the past two decades almost.

“Last night…” Q deflated. “He told me last night. Isn’t that crazy?”

Murr’s voice was dry. “Totally crazy. What are you thinking now?” Murr could almost hear the blood rushing through his ears. He had almost convinced himself that he would never be having this conversation with Q, but here he was, and he was panicking.

Q sighed. “I really don’t know what to think… It’s very sudden.”

Murr grit his teeth and tilted his head a little nervously. Thinking to himself that this situation _wasn’t_ sudden, and that Q was _very_ oblivious. He stayed silent and tried to give the impression that he was giving Q time to speak, not that he was scrambling for his own words.

“I was just really fuckin’ shocked, man. My best friend since high school…” He shook his head. “And I did it again…”

“Did what again?”

“I think I hurt his feelings again.” Q’s tempo dropped, and Murr felt almost offended that Q only _thought_ he hurt Sal’s feelings, the other man really could be dense sometimes. “He—He went to touch me… I could tell he wanted to take back what he said. But it was already in my head. He went to touch me and I jerked back like if he had actually done it I would have caught on fire or somethin’ like that.”

Murr looked down.

“Then I just got in my car and left him there all alone in the middle of the night…” Q didn’t know why this feeling of guilt was beginning to swirl around in his stomach and in his head. He thought that he had the right to be shocked, to be taken aback and not know what to do. So, why was feeling like the bad guy? “He had that look on his face again.” The image tried to bubble to the surface of Q’s mind. “The one where he’s really been kicked while he’s down. I did it again.” Q said, realizing.

Murr struggled. He didn’t want to invalidate what Q was saying. He didn’t want to say “Look what you’ve done to him this time,” even though he was definitely thinking it. Even though he felt that Sal’s feelings were so out there, so completely and utterly _obvious,_ he couldn’t find it his place to berate Q about being shocked. Perhaps it was only obvious to him because he had known for a long time. Q thought nothing of the little glances and touches Sal stole from him, but Joe and Murr knew it all.

“I’ve done nothin’ but think about it all night and all day long… And I still don’t know what to do.” Q put his arms at his sides.

The room went silent. Murr didn’t know how long he had stared at the floor, nor how long they went without speaking. There was an awful feeling in the area that just wouldn’t go away. He was sure Q felt just as lost as he did. Murr wanted to get up and run out, feeling as if the past half hour he had spent with Q had knocked years off his life. The two of them both wished simultaneously to go back to their ignorant pasts full of poorly recorded YouTube videos and not-so-sold-out comedy shows. When had everything become so complicated?

“Whatever you end up saying to him…” Murr treaded lightly, his eyes trained on a spot on the rug that Benjamin had picked at. “Just… give it a lot of thought before you do.”

 

_I turn from the mirror,_

_That desperate plea_

_I refuse and can’t believe those eyes belong to me_

_Come on, one more breath_

_My ravaged voice betrays me mid-shout_

_Will you never hear those final words I failed to choke out?_

_Can you, can you help me?_

_Wake me from this nightmare_

 

Sunday came and went. Full of déjà vu, Joe, Murr, and the Impractical Jokers staff all waited at the set on Monday morning. Joe had sent worried texts to a Sal who didn’t respond, and Murr sent anxious texts (disguised as irritated ones) to a Q who played sick. The set was quiet then, and every sound felt extremely amplified to the point of discomfort. The catered breakfast went untouched by Murr and Joe, and the rest of the crew ate it in an obligatory, yet forced, manner. None of them had any inkling as to what was specifically happening between the four main members, but when something was wrong, they all seemed to know, and therefore all seemed to be affected. Tuesday passed with the same result. Sal didn’t respond to any messages, and Q played dead. For the second day in a row, everyone sat with bated breath and chewed their fingernails. Casey Jost asked Joe and Murr what was wrong, only to receive contrived shrugs as a response. No one touched the catered breakfast. By Wednesday, no one even went to the set. Murr and Joe sat together in Murr’s apartment and checked everyone’s social media. Q posted nonsensical, unimportant things on Twitter and Facebook, while Sal appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth completely. Something scary began to wind its way up Joe and Murr’s spines, and the two of them were unsure of whether or not the situation would resolve itself or not. Joe’s message log to Sal was so long that it took him almost a good minute for him to scroll all the way back up to Sal’s last response to him.

“… ‘ _Sorry about last night_.’” Joe read a part of the text aloud to Murr, his voice laced with sadness at Sal’s apparent guilt for just being human. Murr only lifted his head to look at him. “‘ _Things will be okay soon’_ …” Joe read the response he had sent to Sal, wondering how soon “ _soon_ ” really was, and wondering if he had said the wrong thing again and that’s what had cut off the connection between the two of them. Murr looked down again with nothing to say.

On Thursday, they were calling family members. Now Q wasn’t even active online—he, too, had fallen completely silent. Sal’s parents and sisters hadn’t heard from him, and Q’s parents reported the same. Joe and Murr tried hard to make it seem like nothing was wrong, and that there was nothing to worry about. Joe told Sal’s parents that his phone had been acting up, and he just wanted to know if Sal had been able to contact them, while Murr used Q’s lie and told his parents that he was feeling a little under the weather. The two of them sat together for what felt like the one-hundredth day in a row and stayed on their phones like they worked at a call center, trying to reach out to someone, _anyone,_ who may know something. On Friday, they were banging on Sal’s door together. The spare key had been removed.

“Sal, we know you’re in there.” Joe knew he sounded worried, and somewhere deep inside he hoped that was enough to get Sal to open the door. “Please open the door. We’re all so damn worried. Come on, buddy, don’t leave us hangin’ like this.” He craned his neck to try to look into the small section of glass that was fixed into the top of the door.

Murr stood off to the side and tried to peer through the bay window, only to be greeted by an empty living room. “I don’t see him.” He looked over to Joe, then cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass again. “I don’t see anything, really.”

“Damn it all.” Joe was frustrated and deeply concerned. He felt hopeless, and it was an extremely awful emotion that he could barely wrap his head around.

It wasn’t uncommon for all of them to have fights or problems and not talk to each other for a couple of days, but they all knew that this situation was different. This situation was new, unchartered territory that they couldn’t predict, and that terrified Joe and Murr. They could no longer guarantee that everything would blow over, they could no longer guarantee everything would be all right eventually. Everything they thought they knew had been flipped on its head, and suddenly the relationships they thought they were so well-versed with inside and out had become very muddled, unreadable, and untraceable. The two of them marched block after block on their way to Q’s house after having spent a very unsuccessful almost-hour outside of Sal’s townhome. Joe and Murr shared anxious, breakneck chatter one moment, and then were completely shrouded in reticence the next. When the house was coming over the horizon, Murr took the lead, taking longer steps and larger strides. He felt responsible for Q, for some reason he couldn’t explain. The two of them had never really shared a deep connection where they told each other everything. But recently Murr had been spending time with him and he had gotten Q to share his feelings with him, and the fact that he was now being cut off from it all actually offended him. Murr felt like a rug had been pulled out from underneath him and that he had almost been played for a fool.

Murr hit his fist against the door, basically shaking it in its frame.

“Hey, take it easy.” Joe caught up to him.

“This is really pissing me off, actually.” Murr spat, but Joe could tell his irritation was a façade. Murr turned his attention back to the door. “Quinn, you better get your ass out here and talk to us.”

No response.

Murr banged again. “We know you’re not _sick._ I’m not—We’re not stupid.”

Suddenly, Murr heard Joe gasp and point towards a closed window on the second story. They both looked up and held their breath as they watched the curtains rustle on the inside. When they finally parted, they realized it was Benjamin sitting on the windowsill looking down at them. The two of them sighed and hung their heads as if they had just been released from high-tension cords. After days and days of trying to get ahold of both Q and Sal, they finally thought they were about to catch a glimpse at one of them, as if it were like seeing Sasquatch and it was a once in a lifetime experience. Something screwed into their stomachs that they couldn’t pin with a word. The world seemed to be playing against them. They felt like they were fighting a battle they had no hopes of winning. 

“Be a fucking adult.” Murr wanted to sound angry as he turned his attention back to the door, but it came out as a plea. “Sal is having a hard time, and I know you are, too.”

The two of them were way past caring what any passersby might be thinking of them screaming at a closed door.

“He’s right, Q.” Joe used the same line he had used on Sal. “The situation isn’t goin’ to just go away.”

Three inches away, Q had his forehead pressed against the front door, his fists balled up against his temples and his shoulders drawn up tightly.  “I know, I know, I _fucking know._ ” He whispered.

 

_I tried to survive by putting all my faith in instinct_

_But now I regret_

_What have I done?_

_A cowardly façade weaves into my voice_

_Blinded by this far-fetched noble cause_

_Although I had a choice, I believed the lies_

_But, it’s all a dream_

_Ending when I open up my eyes_

2:45PM. Sunday. The sky was overcast and the air smelled like rain. The ominous wind that was rustling the trees around the neighborhood seemed to mirror Q’s feelings, and he hoped that they were not a telltale sign for how the day was going to play out. He was standing outside of Sal’s house for the third time that day. At 9:13AM, he walked up to the door and was a hair’s breadth away from knocking before he turned tail and sped two blocks down the road where he walked in circles for an hour trying to get ahold of himself. At 11:27AM, he thought he had steeled himself for what he was about to do, but as he approached Sal’s house, Q found himself unable to hop up the few steps to the door, so he walked right past the establishment and cringed at himself and his inability to go through with his plan. Then, he spent the next three hours outside of a certain vicinity of Sal’s home, as if crossing the imaginary line he’d set for himself would cause alarms to go off. Q paced and paced, running his hands through his hair one minute, then having them shoved into his pockets the next. He’d stood around in one spot and looked (probably) crazy for so long that it was more than likely becoming noticeable to the other people in the neighborhood. By the time he had talked himself back into walking to Sal’s home, a light drizzle had begun to fall.

Briefly, Q felt like he was standing outside of a door he would have to go through to face a punishment on the show. However, this feeling was much worse. The feeling of the unknown was foreboding and frightening. There was no way to backpedal out of the situation like there was when he was on camera. There was no way to take a step back and pull out of the embarrassment like when he said “Hey, this is a TV show.” This was real. There was no way out. There was no scapegoat.

When Q finally knocked on the door, he realized how badly he was shaking. There was a moment, after everything went silent and Q was waiting for a response, that his entire ability to hear went completely blank. He could no longer hear himself breathing, nor the wind stirring the leaves or the rain hitting the wrought iron banister that was cemented into the stairs. Everything seemed to freeze. One minute drifted into the next, and Q realized that he had stood there, staring at the door, for what felt like an eternity. However, everything rushed back into his ears when the sound of a deadbolt switching over came from the other side of the door. Q swallowed, his eyes widened, and his heart started racing. He was scared out of his mind and he felt like running, but as badly as his brain was telling him to move, move, move, his feet were glued to the cement stoop. When the door opened, Q found himself squinting, as if he had just flinched at something.

“Hey.” Sal said.

It had been over a week since Q had heard his voice, and it was such an odd sensation when the word went into his ears, because it was almost as if it was the first time he had ever heard Sal’s voice before. But then suddenly, Q was ransacked with feelings of guilt. Sal’s greeting held an obvious air of hesitation. It was not the light, fluid, nonchalant salutation he was used to getting when he came to Sal’s house. The next thing in his mind was how different in tone it was from the last time he talked to him. The mental sound of Sal’s panicked, guilt-ridden, apologetic voice was as clear to Q now as it was when it happened. He tried with all his might to shake it off for just one moment.

“Hi.” Q knew he probably looked as dumb as he sounded, but it was the only thing he could force himself to say.

The two of them looked at each other, as if it were akin to seeing a fish out of water.

“It’s raining.” Sal’s matter of fact statement snapped Q back into the real world.

Q looked around, previously unaware of his rapidly dampening clothes. “You’re right. Can I come in?” He felt himself about to end the sentence with “buddy,” but at the last second, he swallowed the word back up, uncertain of himself.

Sal hesitated, his movements fidgety. It took a moment for him to decide on whether or not he should actually open up the door or just slam it shut. “Sure.” He stepped aside.

Q knew as soon as he crossed over the threshold that he would be in the lion’s lair. There would be no escaping the probable trap he let himself walk into. But he swallowed, and took the step inside. “Thanks.” Q looked at the floor as he took his shoes off by reflex.

Sal closed the door, and in that split second, Q knew that he was in for the long haul. There was no moment where Q was expecting him to say, “What are you here for?” They didn’t need to say anything, in fact, there was no introduction that even needed to be said at all. Both of them knew well enough why they were in the same room with each other. Both of them were feeling the same anxieties. Both of them knew this day would come eventually. Time was unforgiving.

“Can we go to the kitchen?” Q looked Sal in the eyes even though it was hard.

Sal nodded. He agreed with the location of their talk, as well. The living room felt too personal, too relaxed, too friendly for what was about to happen. In addition, it was where Sal had had his mental breakdown with Joe, and having the person who he had the breakdown _about_ in the room in which it happened seemed like a recipe for disaster.

The sound of the kitchen chairs scraping against the floor sounded much louder than usual. Much louder than when they plopped down there to record What Say You? or have a quick lunch. They sat across from each other and looked down at the wooden table, unsure of where to even begin.

Q had his fingers interlocked and his palms facing down, scared to move his hands to see how much they were sweating. He tried to swallow, but he felt if he did he would stomach all of the things he knew he needed to say. His body was shaking and he hoped Sal wouldn’t notice it.

“I want to start off with an apology.” Q felt his voice wavering, and he tried to gain control over it. “I never should have done what I did at the bar. I should have never just left you like that.”

Sal kept his eyes trained downward, memorizing the grooves in the table.

“I want to say I left because I was so shocked by what happened.” Q shook his head. “But, regardless, I never should have done that. I’m sorry.”

Sal stayed silent, his thoughts racing at a mile a minute.

“And I never should have waited this long to have this talk with you.” Q’s stomach churned and twisted. “I can only imagine how—how bad the past week has been for you. It was bad for me, too, but… I ran away without a word and I know that’s probably been hauntin’ you.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry.” He repeated.

Sal mumbled something Q couldn’t quite catch, and it sent his heart flying into his throat.

“What did you say?” Q’s voice was soft, and he felt like if he raised his voice that Sal would just shatter into a million pieces in front of him.

Sal spoke a little louder, but he was still talking towards the kitchen floor. “I said… ‘I don’t blame you.’”

Guilt bloomed in Q’s veins and infected his entire bloodstream. “Please, don’t—” Q winced a little at Sal’s words. “Please, don’t say that. I did something terrible to you, my very best friend in the whole world.” Even though Q said “best friend,” and Sal _truly_ was his best friend, it sounded, at least at that time, like an embarrassing confession that took work to actually get out. Was he scared Sal no longer thought the same of him? He didn’t have time to sit and ponder questions.

Sal went mute again.

As scared as Q was to be talking, it seemed as if he couldn’t actually _stop._ The words kept coming out of him like water gushing from a broken hose. “I’ve done a lot of thinkin’ over the past week.” Q licked his dry lips. “I mean, I’ve done nothin’ _but_ think over the past week.”

“Me, too.” Sal whispered.

A lull of silence washed between them again, and Q watched Sal look side to side while he pinched nervously at his fingertips until they were so red that Q was scared he’d break the skin.

“I was really shocked.” Q found himself repeating what he had said already. “But that’s not an excuse for what I did.” He knew he was backtracking. “Ugh, what am I even tryin' to say?” He covered his face briefly. “I just wasn’t _expecting_ you to say what… you said, I think.”

Sal felt bile rise up into his throat at the reminder of his confession. “I can imagine…”

“How long?” Q finally asked the question that had been boiling in his mind since he left the parking lot last Saturday night. “How long have you felt this way?”

Sal felt overwhelmingly embarrassed and pathetic. He wanted to lie, and he wanted to change the subject or somehow use magic to make the situation disappear, but he knew none of that was going to happen. So, he swallowed the horrible taste in the back of his mouth and spoke.

“Since we graduated high school… when we were about to all go to college.”

Q felt like someone had reached deep into his chest and started squeezing everything within him. “Sal…” He sounded almost like he didn’t believe what had just come out of the other’s mouth. “That’s—That’s, like, twenty-somethin’ years…” He looked at Sal, eyes wide. Q felt his heart starting to hurt.

“Yeah…” He sounded discouraged and frightened by his admission. “It’s been a, uh…” Sal rubbed the scruff along his cheek. “long time.”

“Buddy.” Words were starting to trickle away from Q, like water swirling down a drain. “I wish you would have said something sooner. Over twenty years… I can’t even imagine…” He shook his head.

“I was scared, Q.” Sal wavered on the edge of tears, and the signs of it perked red flags in Q’s mind. “I was so damn _scared_ … and I’m still scared.”

Q began to notice the small tremors that would shake Sal every other minute. Like the realization of what was happening would settle into his bones again and start to rattle him to his very core.

Sal’s voice shook very much like the leaves outside. “I told Joe and Murr about it during sophomore year of college.”

Suddenly, Q felt very much like an outsider. He had been left out of something the rest of his friends knew for almost _half his life_. He completely understood why, of course, but the feeling still clung to him.

“You’re telling me that those guys have known about this for _that long_?”

Sal nodded.

“How had they not spilled the beans yet?”

Sal fidgeted. “I remember, uhm…” Sal felt uncomfortable retrieving the memory from the bank in his mind. “I was crying really hard when I told them. I guess they really were hell bent on keeping it a secret. I was terrified when I told them about it, and I think they were terrified of what would happen to me if it ever got out.”

Q’s intestines knotted.  

Sal continued. “Back then, it was so bad that even looking at you was enough to hurl me into a panic attack. I was so damn petrified that I had these feelings that just wouldn’t go the hell away. Through the years…” He sighed. “I thought I had gotten over it. I thought ‘Finally, this has passed.’ But over the last few months, those feelings came back and they were stronger than ever.”

Q thought about how Sal must have felt whenever he touched him or smiled at him. It made him feel guilty and resentful towards himself for a reason he couldn’t really begin to explain.

“When I told Joe about it a few weeks ago…” Sal ran his hand through his unkempt hair, curls ringing around his fingers. “The damn guy is so smart. He knew what I was going to say before I even got it out of my mouth.” Sal smiled sadly, despite himself. “He said to me, ‘You really should tell Q.’” Sal inhaled deeply, like he had just gotten his first whiff of air after being kept underwater. “And early on, I told myself that I would never tell you. I _swore_ to myself that I would never tell you. But, when Joe said that, I realized that this was a long time coming. The idea of me keeping it from you forever was faulty from the start.”

Q didn’t notice his fingers tightening, his fists balling. He felt bombarded by every emotion imaginable.

“And—” Sal began to really struggle, and the sound of a tree branch hitting the window sounded chillingly loud. “And I feel so dumb for thinking this, but…” Sal sniffed hard and bit his tongue for a second. “You’ve had a couple of boyfriends… and I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I have just a little bit of a chance…’”

Q looked away this time. He had kept his eyes trained on Sal for the entire time he was talking, but when Sal brought up the fact that he had, in actuality, dated several men in his lifetime, he felt a little embarrassed. He knew it was nothing to be embarrassed _about_ , but growing up with the societal notion that not being straight meant you might as well have been bad, was something that carried over into his adult life, unfortunately. Even now, in his middle-age, he had trouble admitting outright that he wasn’t _really_ straight. Everyone in the friend group knew, of course, and they were all very accepting and supportive. But, still, it was something that they rarely talked about, and Q was very, _very_ wary about sharing it with the public, regardless of the fact that he was very public with his acceptance of non-straight individuals. Suddenly, all the times that Q and Sal had recorded What Say You? flashed in his mind. There were times when Q had to say something about his current significant other, and he caught himself saying “girlfriend,” regardless of the fact that he actually had a boyfriend. For some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” Sal laughed a little and held up his hands, retroceding.  

Q felt like barbed wire was coiled in his throat, and for a split second, he had convinced himself to not say what he was about to. But he had made his decision. He had turned it over in his head again and again and again until it was well done. He was scared to take this plunge, scared of what might come of their relationship, of the friendship he held so deep and dear to his heart. Q blinked slowly and gathered what little courage he could muster.

“You know how I told you I’ve been thinking all week…” Q began.

Sal lowered his hands. “Yeah.” He seemed a little confused at the sudden change of flow in the conversation.

“I—I—” Q had legitimately never felt like this before. He felt like his bones were rattling against each other, and that his stomach was about to come out of his throat at any given moment. He knew he just had to spit it out. “I’ve been thinkin’ about… what it would be like to be _with_ you.”

Sal’s eyes widened, and his spine straightened nervously as he tried to disguise the fact it was hard for him to let go of the breath he had in his lungs.

“It’s somethin’ I never thought about before, of course.” Q was looking everywhere but at Sal. He talked towards the kitchen sink one second, and the coffee pot the next. “I’m kind of scared, but at the same time, I’m—” Q’s heart did a flip in his chest, unable to settle. “I’m kind of curious… to see what it would feel like.”

Under the table, Sal pinched his index finger so hard that he was sure he left two crescent indentations on his skin. His immediate reaction was that Q was absolutely, one-hundred percent fucking with him, but when he saw Q’s face go from pale to red, the reality of Q’s words were beginning to hit him like bricks. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he wasn’t sure if he was in a dream come true or a nightmare, either way, it definitely didn’t feel like real life.

“You aren’t worried that this will…” Sal seemed to have trouble saying his next line. “mess up our relationship?”

“I’m scared about that. I’ve been thinkin’ about it so much that I feel like it’s the only thing in my head anymore.” Q admitted. “But there’s something inside me—deep in my gut—that’s tellin’ me to—to take this chance.”

Sal leaned back in his chair, his hands covering his face. “Oh, my god, Brian.” His voice was muffled, and then Sal went silent.

Q watched him, as if Sal had seemingly frozen in place. He wasn’t sure what to say or do. Sal’s response was one that was unreadable. While he waited with bated breath for Sal’s reaction, Q heard small sobs coming from behind the curtain of Sal’s hands.

“Sal?” Q sounded worried. “Are you—?”

Sal wiped his eyes hard and tried to erase all the feelings of depression, anxiety, and guilt that had been fermenting inside of him for the past week. He knew the possible repercussions of what he was about to do—but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already been imagining this scenario, as well as countless others, in his mind for the past twenty years. But in that moment, Sal felt as if something inside of him collapsed. A wall he had been trying so hard to maintain for almost half of his life had been busted to smithereens, and he honestly didn’t know if he was terrified by it or relieved.

“Sally?” Q tried again.

Sal took his hands away from his red face and wiped them on his jeans before placing them back on the table. Q spotted an expression on Sal that he had honestly never seen before, and he took in as much of an eyeful as he could, because he was uncertain if he would ever see it again.

“If you’ll let me…” Q started off, sliding his hand across the table slowly. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, and he still felt on the verge of vomiting. “I think I want to try this, just for a second. Hopefully it, uh, won’t be weird.” Q’s fingertips touched the edge of Sal’s before slipping between his fingers, interlocking their hands across the table.

Q wasn’t sure if the thumping he felt on his palm was Sal’s racing heartbeat or his own. Sal was thinking the very same thing. The thing is, it wasn’t like this was the first time they had held hands. They’d done it multiple times on the show, and just as many times off-camera for whatever reason. But this felt completely different. This unknown sensation sent adrenaline racing through each of their bodies, and the two of them sat still for quite some time, looking at their hands clasped loosely together.

There was so much caution in each of their movements, but somehow there was also this atmosphere of throwing caution to the wind. There were worries blooming in the backs of their minds, threatening to take over the situation that had finally settled between them.

What would happen now? What would the world think? How would everything change? Sal focused on Q’s thumb slowly rubbing across one of his knuckles, and Q tried to keep his attention on how Sal’s thumb bent slightly over his own. The two of them silently agreed to stave off the unavoidable questions for now, choosing instead to listen to the rain battering the windows and the distant thunder rumbling in the background.

 

_My hand, can you reach it?_

_My cry, can you hear it?_

_Can you, can you tell me_

_If this “dream” was worth it?_

_There's no end to this, can't you see that?_


	5. Obvious meets Oblivious

It started off slow. Almost mind-bendingly slow. But Q and Sal wouldn’t have had it any other way if they had tried. Not necessarily because they were thoroughly enjoying their pace, but rather, they were approaching everything with extreme caution. Every time they went to hold hands they hesitated as if they were about to slip their fingers onto a mousetrap. Every time they went to hug there was a slight delay now that it suddenly meant something _different._ For some dumb reason, it felt like learning how to live all over again. Almost three whole weeks had passed since the first thunderstorm of spring. Almost three whole weeks had passed since the delicate hand-holding in the kitchen, the quiet whispers, and the suddenly shy glances. Although they had never said it out loud, the fact that it felt like there was such a sudden, sharp change between them was almost on the verge of annoying. Of course, things had changed, but the majority of their relationship had ultimately stayed the exact same. They still spent all their time together, like they did before. They still ate lunch together, like they did before. They still rode to work together all the time, like they did before. Simultaneously, everything and nothing had changed. Although they were faced with a new set of hurdles to get across, both Q and Sal were thankful to at least have each other’s company again.

Sal had dreamt about this moment finally happening. He had pined and ached over the thought of it since his youth, and now that it was actually happening, he felt himself trying to stave off that little voice in his head that kept saying “don’t fuck this up.” Sal still wasn’t exactly sure what thought process told Q to begin this romantic venture with him, and he worried constantly about how soon (because he thought it was inevitable) his newfound privileges would be revoked. He didn’t want to do anything to scare Q away. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or touch him the wrong way. Sal’s worst fear for a very long time was driving Q away, and now that thought frightened him almost tenfold.

Q’s thoughts were equally as hesitant. He had made this choice of his own volition. During the long week he had spent segregating himself from everyone, he felt like he was in a prison of his own thoughts. He wanted so badly to be set free of himself, but at the same time, even though he held the key to his own freedom, he didn’t have the guts to unlock the chains he put on himself. At first he felt so shocked and almost scared that Sal had these feelings for him. He couldn’t explain it to himself. He couldn’t really pinpoint at what time in their relationship was the changing point for when Sal’s feelings of friendship started warping into something else. Q spent hours thinking back on his memories, going through the past years and trying to spot a difference in Sal’s speech, actions, _anything._ The first couple of days he felt so confused by everything that he could hardly look at himself in the mirror. Half way through the week, he started feeling angry. He hated his friend for keeping this secret from him, and he hated that Joe and Murr were trying to come to his rescue. He wanted to either stay in his house and be by himself forever, leave the entire country for a while, or just be hurdled into outer space. By the end of the week, he was just frustratingly sad. The irritation he had held so tightly in his fist towards Sal had simmered into something he couldn’t explain. Q felt like there was something squeezing his entire torso every time he thought about himself and Sal with romance involved. It seemed so out of the blue, so sudden, so strange, and for some reason, so _normal._ But he was, for lack of a better word, scared by the fact that that the thought of holding Sal’s hand in a different way than he was used to was tugging at his heart strings. At first, Q tried to shake the thoughts away, thinking that Sal’s confession was somehow influencing him. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to try it. But the things he kept imagining were things that were already (had already) been happening between them. That in itself brought new questions, and new anxieties, into Q’s mind. Were things between them already _slightly romantic_? He wasn’t sure. Even now, he still didn’t know what their past relationship should even be called anymore. But at the moment, it didn’t matter. He wanted to see if this bold, straight-forward (although it didn’t seem like it) approach would be any different than usual. Q found himself to be both surprised and unsurprised at the results.

Currently, the popcorn in the microwave was filling Q’s kitchen with continuous, repetitive sound. Q was sitting on top of the counter and watching Sal dig through his fridge for another snack.

“All of this damn food is expired.” Sal shook his head. “So gross. It reminds me of when I kept getting all of that expired food from that grocery store.”

“Yeah, too bad I don’t have a prehistoric Kashi in my freezer for you to eat, huh, buddy?” Q shrugged. “I’m too lazy to really get in there and clean it out.”

“You’re lazy, all right.” Sal retorted. “There’s a whole damn container of sour cream—” Sal pulled the top off of it, and sure enough, it was still covered in protective plastic. “There’s a _whole_ damn container of sour cream in here that expired six months ago!” He turned around to give Q’s smiling face a grumpy glance.

“I was planning on making a burrito with it, but…” He trailed off. “You know…” Q put a finger on his chin. “I think every single time my fridge has been cleaned, you’re the one who did it.”  

“That wouldn’t shock me any.” Sal turned his attention back to the icy box. “Don’t let the popcorn burn. I smell it.”

“Oh, shit.” Q hopped to his feet and pulled the microwave door open and yanked the bag out. “Hot, hot, hot!” All the steam poured out onto his fingers when he pulled at the diagonal ends of the bag.

“You have nothing in here that I feel safe eating.” Sal closed the refrigerator door. “Don’t burn yourself, you moron.”

Q’s instinct told him to quip back with just enough venom to make Sal unsure whether to frown or laugh, like always. But something washed over him and just made him want to appreciate the fact that Sal was slowly returning to his old self. For the first time in a long time, Q felt like there were no walls between them that they both had built. There were no twenty-year long secrets. There were no hurt feelings. It made Q feel refreshed. It wasn’t very often he was able to walk around with a crystal clear mind. He wanted to savor the feeling before it went away like it always did.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Q turned away to hide the little smile that splayed across his face while he looked through the cabinets to find a large enough bowl for their movie-time treat. “We should melt some butter and pour it all over this.”

Sal made a noise. “Are you crazy? Do you know how much cholesterol is in that? Plus, it’s kettle corn, it’s already delicious how it is. Don’t ruin its natural goodness.”

“You’re such a stick in the sand.” Q teased.

“Well, at least I’ll live longer than you.”

“Good. Then I have two things to be glad about—one, I won’t have to live in a world where you’re gone, and two, I can finally be fuckin’ dead.” Q laughed heartily as he tipped the popcorn bag into a wok. “All right. Ready for the movie?” He turned around.

Sal’s mouth dropped open. “What the _hell_ is that?” He laughed through his confusion, staring at the obscenely wide metal object in Q’s hands.

“I didn’t have a clean bowl that was big enough.” Q tried hard to keep the innocent look he had on his face.

Sal’s arms reached out as if on their own, trying to grab someone to hold onto as he laughed. When his palm slapped the kitchen counter, he held onto it as his knees threatened to buckle.

“You look so goddamn ridiculous with that thing. I would have rather eaten it out of the damn bag!”

In any other scenario, this wouldn’t be so funny to Sal. But just like Q, he was on an emotional high. For the first time in months, he felt like he wasn’t carrying the weight of the Earth and then some on his shoulders. Suddenly, in the midst of Sal’s laughing fit, Benjamin pounced up onto the counter.

Sal gasped and stumbled backwards, his New York accent sounding as thick as ever. “You damn bastard!”

Now it was Q’s turn to laugh. He thought Benjamin was the sweetest soul in the world, and the fact that Sal was _still_ scared of him was blatantly comical at this point, especially considering how much time they had spent together at Q’s house over the years. The look of sheer, unbridled terror on Sal’s face when it came to cats was absolutely hilarious at any and every angle.

“He’s not gonna hurt you. Come on.” Q jerked his head towards the living room in an inviting way.

“Yeah…” Sal stood up straight, brushing imaginary dust off of the front of his shirt. “What movie are we plannin’ on watchin’?” He walked towards the living room, taking double-glances back at Benjamin to make sure he wasn’t on the attack.

Q put the popcorn on the coffee table and made a stance like he was holding an invisible leaf blower. “ _Ghostbusters_ , my friend!”

Sal put his hands on his hips. “Classic.”

“Right?” Q smiled. “I figured you’d appreciate that choice.”

“I do, I do.” Sal took his place on the corner of the couch he had long since claimed as his own. “You know me well.”

Something about Sal saying that made Q’s stomach do a somersault. He sat down next to Sal and fiddled with his PlayStation 4 controller, navigating the screen instinctively. Sal reached forward to grab half of a handful of popcorn. The two of them shared a comfortable silence while the beginning credits of the movie rolled along, only speaking up to make little comments or to give snip-bits of interesting _Ghostbusters_ facts that they both knew already. Halfway through the movie, though, Q caught himself glancing at Sal’s hand. He felt like a teenager, and he tried to push that half-annoying, half-embarrassing feeling to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to overthink this like he did with absolutely everything in his life. So instead of brooding over it, he gave himself to the count of ten.

“… _Six, seven, eight, nine_ …” Q’s thoughts paused in his mind as he bridged the small distance between his hand and Sal’s. As Q slipped his fingers between the other’s, he hoped his palms weren’t as sweaty as he thought they were. He saw Sal look down for a few moments before looking back at the television, and then off towards the corner of the room. Even in the dim lighting, Q could still see Sal’s cheeks growing pink. Both of their hearts fluttered, and Q found himself quickly growing accustomed to their interwoven hands resting on Sal’s thigh.

 

_Ain’t it great how we met each other_

_On this wild and crazy carousel of life?_

_Ain’t it cool how it changed the paths of our lives_

_And set us off on new adventures?_

Close to two hours later, Q was fondly watching an animated Sal talk fervently over his favorite actors. “Well, so-and-so was such a good one.” He would say. “And so-and-so was good in that one film, but could you believe how bad he was in the sequel?” As much as Q didn’t want to admit it, he felt like half of what Sal was saying was going through one ear and out the other. Being in the mere presence of Sal was enough to keep a smile on his face at this point, and the fact that he had kept his clasp on Q’s hand this whole time wasn’t hurting either.

“What do you think?” Sal’s question pulled Q out of the fuzzy thoughts that were threatening to overtake him.

“Huh?” Q blinked as if he were just caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to have been. “Yeah, I agree.”

Sal laughed a little. “You agree with what? Were you even listening to me?”

Q felt a little embarrassed at being caught, but instead of trying to deny it, he went with the first thing that popped into his mind. “Sorry, I was just… a mile away, I guess. This is the happiest I’ve seen you in months. I just wanted to pay attention to that, I think.”

When Sal’s cheeks reddened, Q realized how dopey his comment really was.

“You weirdo.” Sal’s response was weak, venomless, and downright affectionate. Q’s comment hung between them for a good few minutes while Sal looked down at their conjoined hands. He licked his lips as he tumbled a thought inside his head. “Are you listenin’ now?”

Q’s thumb traced circles across Sal’s hand absently, and the fact that Sal knew that Q didn’t realize he was doing it was making his heart race a little.

“Yeah, I’m all ears.”

Suddenly, Sal found it hard to look into his more-than-friend’s brown eyes. There was no denying that there were many times in his life where he felt that looking at Q was near impossible, but considering their current circumstances, Sal felt those emotions rising within him again with vigor. Even if nothing had changed, he knew that Q would still give him all the time and attention in the world, but seeing that something _had_ changed between them, Sal felt himself stumbling around a little more than usual.

“It’s been a little while since, you know…” Sal trailed off, even though he didn’t intend to.

Q kept quiet.

Sal reset himself and started up again. “What I’m trying to say is, do you think we should tell Joe and Murr?”

Q rubbed the side of his neck with his free hand. “It would make sense. Especially since they’ve known you’ve had a crush on me for a good chunk of your life.” Q’s nervousness translated into him teasing Sal.

“Shut up.” Sal shook his head. He knew that Q’s words were coming from a part of him that he knew meant well, but Sal was still jittery. “I just wanted to get your opinion on it first.”

Q shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” He saw the tension release itself from Sal’s shoulders. By nature, Sal was a guy who kept the majority of people at arm’s length. He wasn’t one to just go tell everyone everything. “They’ll probably get a kick out of this anyway.”

Even though Sal groaned, a little smile still creeped onto his face. “Do you have any idea how much Joe is gonna tease us?”

Q laughed, pulled one leg onto the couch, and shifted so he could face Sal better. “I can already hear Murr’s goddamn squeaky voice now.”

Sal laughed back, and just a moment later, after several more good-hearted comments tossed towards their absent friends, the two of them realized how close they had gotten to each other. Sal’s eyes widened as they met Q’s, and Q found his heart starting to speed up. Sure, their bodies had been closer than this in their lifetime. Sure, they had held hands before. Sure, they had done all of these things. But now everything was seen through a lens that had never been there (or at least, had never been recognized) before. Suddenly, they felt as if they were wrapped in a delicate cocoon of intimacy. And before Q could stop himself to think through his actions, he caught himself cupping the side of Sal’s cheek, the feeling of scruff scratching against his palm that was not his own falling somewhere between foreign and enticing.

Sal swallowed and looked back and forth between Q’s eyes and lips. “Hey…” His voice was barely audible. “What are we about to…”

With his heart hammering in his chest, Q leaned forward and pressed his lips against his best friend’s. Although his mind was racing at a million miles per hour, he still registered Sal tensing for just a second before melting against him. Their lips moved in sync, and when Sal wrapped his arms around Q’s neck to pull him closer, Q found himself pressing Sal into the corner of the couch, one hand cupped around Sal’s neck and jaw, and the other resting against his chest. When Sal tilted his head downward and parted his lips to take a breath, Q took the opportunity to deepen their kiss. Sal could feel every corner of his body heating up, and every time Q’s tongue brushed against his own, he felt like an electric current was running through his spine. Unfortunately, Q pulled away too soon for Sal’s liking, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It wasn’t the first time Sal had seen his friend so flushed, but it wasn’t a very common sight either.

“That was… kinda nice.” Q was breathless, almost in disbelief about what he had just done. “ _Really_ nice…”

Sal felt that if he moved at all, the moment would shatter. He tried to lick the wetness off of his lips. “Yeah.” His voice shook a little in response to their first kiss, and with his arms still hung around Q, their collective body heat began sinking into each other.

However, as soon as they both began leaning into each other again, the aura that had surrounded them collapsed. At the same time, the two of them caught eye of something out of their peripheral vision. As quickly as the moment began, it ended—dissolved into thin air, almost as if it had never been there to begin with.

“Hey, you silly kitty.” Q pushed away from Sal and scooped Chessie up into his arms, leaving the disheveled other in the same corner of the couch that he had put him in. “That stuff isn’t for you.”

Chessie meowed and craned his neck to sniff towards the popcorn.

Although Q had put a little distance between himself and Sal, it wasn’t enough. Sal scrambled to his feet and away from the gray and white cat.

“Jesus, can you like… keep that thing under control? It scared me. Now we can’t even eat the popcorn.” Sal rambled and wiped his palms on his shirt.

Q rubbed his nose against the top of Chessie’s head. “Chessie isn’t an “it.” And the popcorn is fine, see?” Q popped some into his mouth.

“Says the guy who drank water with dollars in it.” Sal scoffed, sass in his voice.

“Says the guy who drank pool water.” Q retorted.

They both shared a brief look of feigned irritation before breaking out into a small laugh.

“I better get home anyway. It’s late.”

Q looked at his watch. “Woah, you’re right, buddy. It’s almost 1:00AM.”

“Yeah, and we have to shoot for the show tomorrow.” Sal continued, having to justify a reason for leaving.

Q nodded, placed Chessie on the floor, and stood up. “Fun night though, right?”

Sal felt his ears go hot.

Q caught wind of Sal’s embarrassment. “With the movie, and everything.” He remanded as they walked to the door together.

“Yeah, it really was.” Sal responded, thankful that he had the process of putting on his shoes to keep him busy. “I hadn’t seen _Ghostbusters_ in a while. It was fun to refresh my memory again.”

He watched Sal fondly. Q knew that Sal knew he didn’t even need to take off his shoes when he came into the house, but the fact that he did, the fact that that behavior was so ingrained into him, was something that Q suddenly found incredibly endearing. When Sal straightened his back and put his hand on the doorknob, he heard Q inhale to say something.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, all right?”

“Yeah.” Sal smiled. “Like always.”

Q gripped what courage he had left and took a step towards Sal, kissing his lips briefly before pecking him on the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Q breathed.

“In the morning.” Sal reaffirmed before opening the door and taking a step out into the cool, humid night. “Night, Q.”

“Night, Sal. Drive safe.” Q lifted his hand as a goodbye gesture before closing the door again.

Simultaneously, the two of them leaned their backs against the block of wood separating them. Their emotions were in a tizzy, their minds were a mess, their hearts were still beating fast, and swooning, unbridled smiles were on their faces.

_This carousel takes us round and round_

_This labyrinth of life—you can’t tell up from down_

_Having so much fun_

_We forget to check_

_Where this crossroad’s taking us_

10:37AM. When Q put his Jeep in park at the location of today’s set, he finally had the time to sit and look at Sal. He’d spent the entire car ride adjusting his glasses and fidgeting with his sleeves nervously. Q knew that Sal was apprehensive about telling Joe and Murr, even if they were his best friends. This was just the sort of thing that really burrowed its way into Sal’s head and made him overanalyze and overthink everything.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Q took the keys from the ignition, questioning Sal like he didn’t already know.

“What do you think?” Sal’s voice wasn’t sarcastic or hateful, it sounded strung tight and anxious.

“You know they’re not gonna do anything stupid.” Q put a hand on the steering wheel just to give himself something to do. “Well… they’re pretty stupid, so they might. But it won’t be anything actually _bad_.”

“I know, I know.” Sal shook his head. “I don’t know why I’ve psyched myself out like this. It’s nothing, and I know it’s nothing. I just…” Sal stopped himself there. He knew he was overreacting. He knew he was making a mountain out of a molehill. But having everything finally come to light was overwhelming him. Sal had been so used to living with those secrets for so long that the hesitation and cautious footing had become commonplace within his life. He was so used to living what could only be considered half of a life. But hiding is the opposite of living.

Q’s hand on his shoulder pulled Sal back to the surface of his thoughts.

“It’s gonna be fine, Sal.” Q’s lips tilted upwards. “I’ll be right by your side.”

Sal lost himself in Q’s face. He tried to push everything out of his mind and focus on Q’s smile and the way his eyes had soft wrinkles in the corners. As hard as it had been for most of his life to be by Q, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Even if he sometimes wanted to run away and stay out of the man’s sight forever, he simultaneously felt the most at peace when he was with him. The fact that Sal didn’t have to deal with the nasty half of those feelings right now was incredibly comforting.

“You’re right.” Q’s words didn’t shred away all of his anxieties, but having Q there with him by his side was definitely enough to keep Sal on his feet and his head held up. “They haven’t been asking us any questions, really. You noticed it too, right?”

Q nodded, feeling some déjà vu from this line of questioning. “Yeah. I’m assumin’ they just don’t wanna pry. If we seem okay then that’s enough for them.”

“I guess so.” Sal looked out of the window briefly. “They sure weren’t giving us privacy when they were banging on our doors a while back.”

“Yeah, nosy bastards.” Q laughed, and he was happy that his remark earned a grin from Sal, too.

The car fell into silence for a few moments before Q patted Sal’s knee. “We’ll get through this together, all right? I would never leave your side.”

“I know.” The next words that escaped from Sal felt heavier to him than it did to Q. “I’d never leave you either.”

Without warning, Q leaned over and planted his lips on Sal’s. The kiss was brief, chaste, and sweet. When Q pulled away, he saw how quickly Sal’s face went red with embarrassment.

“Dammit, Q.” He looked around suspiciously. “What if someone saw us?” Sal’s strong desire for privacy began to show again.

“Unless someone is just hangin’ out in a parking lot, I think we’re good.” Q couldn’t hold back his desire to tease Sal. “Should I stop kissing you?”

Sal sputtered, unable to quickly spit out a coherent quip.

Q laughed. “Come on, get out.”

Sal nodded, his voice only on the edge of being controlled again. “Yeah. We’re wasting time.”

On the way to the set, Q was relieved to find that Sal looked a little less stressed out. He had always worried unhealthily about Sal’s mental state and whether he was feeling okay or not. Q knew that Sal would, like he almost always did, come to him if anything was really bothering him, but that didn’t lessen the fact that, over the course of their friendship, Q caught himself frequently thinking about the other’s wellbeing—possibly more than he thought of his own.

When they entered through the back door of Fairway, they found Joe and Murr sitting around the community table eating. Q noticed Sal’s footing grow a little hesitant, but when he placed his hand on the small of Sal’s back, Sal clenched his fists once then relaxed.

“Hey, boys!” Joe called them over, a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. “Late as usual, I see. They just brought in breakfast.”

“Yeah! You’re just in time!” Murr picked bacon off his plate with his fingers.

Sal grimaced. “Use a fork or somethin’, you animal.”

Murr rolled his eyes.

Q took a seat next to Joe and watched Sal prepare a bagel. He knew Sal would consider a blueberry one, then settle on a plain. After that, he would spread on strawberry cream cheese like he always did, but not after looking to see all the options there were. Q smiled to himself as he watched it all come to fruition before his eyes.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Q turned his head back around to see that Joe had been studying him like some sort of specimen. “Nothin’, really.”

“Nothin’?” Joe prodded.

As soon as Q went to lick his lips nervously and probably say something equally as awkward, he was saved by Sal taking the seat between himself and Murr.

“What’ve we got planned for today?” Sal munched.

Murr spoke with his mouth full. “Balloon game. And tomorrow—”

Sal put his hand up towards Murr’s face. “Can you fuckin’ not? How many times do I have to tell you to not talk with your mouth all full? Your lips are all smackin’, and you’ll probably end up spittin’ all over me, and—”

Sal was interrupted by Joe and Q’s simultaneous laughter.

“Isn’t it a little early in the morning to be tearing Murray apart?” Joe leaned his forearms onto his knees and shook his head as he smiled.

“It’s never too early for that, in my opinion.” Q grinned toothily.

“Exactly.” Sal looked down at his watch. 11:00AM. “Look.” He showed Murr the watch face. “It’s ‘Trash Talk Murr o’clock.’”

Murr made a mocking face before knitting his perfectly done eyebrows together. “Don’t the two of you get enough of ripping on me during your little podcast?”

“No, I don’t think we could ever get enough of that.” Sal retorted as he looked at Joe and Q for comedic validation, grateful that the two of them laughed at his comment.

All of their voices were drowning and blending in with the rest of the Impractical Jokers staff buzzing about backstage. When the conversation amongst the four of them finally settled into a lull, Q and Sal shared a look with each other. Q nodded, and he watched Sal open his mouth, only to find that no sound came out. He could tell by the look in his eyes that Sal was at a loss for words, and he was inaudibly asking Q for help.

Although Q was equally as anxious (despite the fact that he _knew_ nothing terrible would come of the conversation they were all about to have), he handled it in a different way than Sal did. He wasn’t one to really go mute or shrink away, instead, he rambled and found that even though he wanted to—and probably should—stop talking, he just couldn’t. His mind went a mile a minute and his mouth couldn’t keep up.

“So, uh…” Q raised his hands before dropping them onto his knees with a _slap_. “Me and Sal are, uh…”

“We’re kinda tryin’ out this thing…” Sal tried to pick up the ball that Q seemed to drop.

“Oh.” Joe spoke up.

Q and Sal simultaneously looked up, not having realized they weren’t even making eye-contact with the others. They were both greeted by Joe and Murr’s blank, bored faces.

“So, you’re boyfriends is what you’re tryin’ to say.” Joe popped the remains of his breakfast into his mouth and chewed, nonchalant.  

Q and Sal’s jaws dropped at the same time.

Murr shrugged. “There’s no ‘tryin’ out this thing.’ Haven’t you two been actin’ like boyfriends for like, ever?”

Q felt an embarrassed heat filling his stomach, and he didn’t even need to look at Sal to tell his face was as red as a tomato.

Joe and Murr both knew they were using Sal’s longtime affinity for Q against him in that moment, but since it didn’t seem like there were any immediate consequences for their banter, they laid it on thick.

Q fumbled with his words. “You bastards.” He shielded his eyes with one hand.

“Hey, don’t make us out to be the bad guys.” Joe chuckled. “Sal’s feelings for you this whole time have been so obvious. Me and Murr were positive we’d fuckin’ die before anything happened between you two. Q, you’re such a dumbass. Think back a little, won’t you? Remember when we were on tour and Sal was avoiding you?”

“Yeah.” Q sounded suspicious.

“And remember how Sal would talk to us and not to you?”

“Yeah.” Q repeated, slower this time.

Joe grinned. “Why the hell do you think we said, ‘It’s all you’? You’re so fuckin’ _clueless_.”

Murr chimed in, laughing. “Yeah, talk about ‘Obvious’ meeting ‘Oblivious.’”

Sal felt like the whole room was crunching in on him. After twenty years of being nice enough to keep this secret, Joe and Murr finally had free reign to tease the hell out of him—and Q—about this newfound relationship. Joe and Murr shared a raucous laughter at Q and Sal’s expense.

“Oh, god, Q, I wish the memory wasn’t as fuzzy as it was, but you should have seen the look on Sal’s face when he came up to me and Murr after he had told us he liked you.” Joe said.

Murr nodded. “I mean, back then it was super serious. We didn’t want anything bad to happen to little Sal over here. But now that the cat’s outta the bag, we can all laugh about it, right?”

“No?” Sal butted in.

Joe leaned over towards Sal’s direction. “Oh, but we are anyway.”

Murr swept his arms out in front of him as if he were gesturing to something in the air. “Q, think back to scraggly, twenty-something Sal. Imagine how nervous he was trying to tell us that he had this big ol’ sappy crush on you.” He paused to laugh, as if thinking back on the then-serious scenario was suddenly something to make light of. “Funny, right?”

Q had his eyebrows drawn together, and he legitimately looked as if he were trying to picture it in his mind. “Well—”

“Wait!” Joe cut everyone off with his loud voice. “How long have you two been seein’ each other like this?”

Q and Sal kept taking glances at one another.

“Almost a month, I guess…” Sal responded.

“A _month_?!” Murr yelped. “You two have been—? For a _month_ already?”

“Lemme guess, Sal’s privacy complex, right?” Joe spoke up, reading Sal like he was a hand of cards right in front of his face.

“No!” Sal’s shoulders tensed like he were a grumpy kid.

“Yes.” Murr said back, nodding his head like the know-it-all he was.

“Wait!” Joe bellowed again, then leaned in and spoke quieter. “Y’all fucked yet?”

Q’s throat made a noise, and Sal’s spine shot up straight. Joe and Murr laughed and stomped at their two friends’ embarrassed reactions.

“I guess not, huh?” Murr followed up. “You two are acting like such—”

“Hey, you guys.” Jay Miller walked up to the four-man crew, blind to the conversation. “It’s just about time to start filming. Are you guys ready?”

“You’re damn right we are!” Q stood up quickly, followed by Sal shortly thereafter, the two of them grateful that someone had stopped the train wreck that was about to happen.

Jay raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by Q’s sudden enthusiasm. “Uh-huh. Well, let’s get ready, everyone, we need to film the intro!” He made his way away from the group and back towards the other staffers.

 

_This carousel spins us round so much_

_Sometimes you don’t know if you should_

_Stay on or get off_

_It’s only just begun_

_Welcome to this wild maze of life_

Sal and Murr stood in the center of the dairy aisle talking to one another while Q and Joe readied themselves in the back room. Although Murr was talking Sal’s ear off about product placement on shelves, human psychology, and everything else he couldn’t care less about, Sal couldn’t get past all the teasing he and Joe had done that day. When they were recording the intro, Joe, with that shit-eating grin on his face, had _insisted_ on Q and Sal standing next to one another. While Sal obliged, he spat out, “I’m fine standing anywhere as long as it’s not next to Murray. He’ll ruin another pair of my sneakers.” Then, during the inevitable mess-ups during filming, Joe and Murr would whisper that Q and Sal’s mistakes were probably caused by them secretly touching each other’s asses. The crass, purposeful jokes were solely to make Q and Sal uncomfortable while simultaneously inflating Joe and Murr’s egos now that they had the ability to playfully berate them.

“All right, buddy.” Q’s voice coming through Sal’s earpiece brought him back to reality. “You hear me okay?”

“Yeah, you’re good.” Sal responded.

“’Buddy’? Shouldn’t you be saying ‘baby’?” Murr cut in.

Joe’s laugh came over the mic and directly into Sal’s ear. “Yeah, you should definitely be saying ‘baby.’”

Q rolled his eyes and groaned loud enough for Sal and Murr to hear it. “All right, _baby_. You hear me okay?” Q remanded his previous statements as a way to mock Joe and Murr, but the two of them “oohed” and hooted instead.

Even though Sal knew it was a joke and Q was doing it because he was annoyed with Joe and Murr’s merciless badgering, it was still enough to make the apples of Sal’s cheeks redden.

Murr pointed and squeaked out half of a laugh, calling attention to Sal’s expression. “Look at your face! You’re blushing like a little girl!”

“Be quiet, you ferret.” Sal straightened his shoulders. “It’s not like I wasn’t already determined to beat you in this challenge, but now you’re for real going down.”

Murr stretched his arms and twisted his torso at the waist as if he were about to do exercise. “Yeah, we’ll see about that one.”

Forty-five minutes later, Sal won the balloon challenge two-to-nothing, and Murr was sitting on his haunches near the television backstage shaking his head.

“Where did I go wrong?” Murr lamented his loss.

Sal crunched into an apple, chewed, and swallowed. “You opened your big damn mouth, is what you did.” He pointed down at Murr’s head with the fruit in his hand. “You wanna play these games? Well, these games are for two players.”

Q clapped his hands and laughed, appreciating Sal’s sassiness. “Tell him, bud!”

Murr looked up and swatted Sal’s hand away. “I can’t wait to hear you trash talk me on your podcast.” Even after all this time, he was still hung up over What Say You?.

“I’m not talking about this on the podcast, are you crazy?” Sal recoiled, as if the thought itself was insane.

Joe spoke from his seat in front of the television. “The ol’ privacy complex again, eh?”

Q went silent. He looked at Joe, then at Sal.

“I don’t have a ‘ _privacy complex_.’” Sal adjusted his jacket. “It’s nobody’s business. And you two idiots better not breathe a word about me and Q to anyone.” He gestured back and forth between Murr and Joe.

Joe waved him away and looked back down at his phone. “We kept that secret for, like, twenty years. From Q, no less. You think we’re gonna be out telling random people on the street, ‘Hey, my friend started seeing this guy. Wanna hear all about it?’” Joe found himself chuckling at his own sarcastic comment, the mental scenario of it amusing him.

Sal’s puffed up chest deflated, convinced that as horrible as they were being to himself and Q today, that they would never actually out them without their permission. Q, however, had fallen uncharacteristically taciturn all of a sudden.

“Hey.” Joe poked Q in the side. “I know he’s dreamy, but you gotta get your head in the game. It’s almost our turn to go out.”

“Huh?” Q looked down. “I was just thinkin’ about somethin’. Anyway, I can’t let Sal’s hard work destroying Murr go to waste.” He made himself smirk. “You’re next.”

While Q and Joe were out on the floor and the rest of the crew readied for the new turn, Q and Sal had a full-blown conversation about when they would record the next What Say You?, what they would have for dinner that night, and when they would go see their next movie together.

Joe chimed in during a pause in their conversation. “You two sound awfully domestic.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? We’ve always done stuff like this.” Q put his hands on his hips and leered at Joe.

Joe looked off into one of the hidden cameras. “How convenient. It’s almost like you _just_ realized something that’s been there _all along_.”

“Shut up.” Q and Sal responded simultaneously, earning a chuckle out of Murr and Joe. Backstage, Sal looked around awkwardly, thankful that a good bit of the staff weren’t carefully watching the television alongside them.

The rounds were stressful, but Sal’s laughing voice in Q’s ear made him happy and cheered him on like it always did. With a win under his belt, Q blew the smoke off his finger-guns and put them back into their imaginary holsters.

“Take that, Gatto.”

Joe humorously bowed at Q. “Two-to-one, fair and square. I gotta give it up to you.”

When Q and Joe returned to the back room, Sal slapped Q on the side of his arm, a smile wide on his face. “You pulled it off!”

Q took off his hat briefly to scratch his head. “Yeah, I pulled it off for us, right?”

“You sure did.”

Joe and Murr leaned in between Q and Sal on either side.

“Shouldn’t you two be embracing?” Murr looked from side-to-side as if he were checking his surroundings.

Joe did the same, his tone secretive. “And also kissing?”

Sal pushed Joe away while Q pushed Murr, the two of them collectively groaning while Joe and Murr tried to squeeze in one more laugh for the day.

“You guys are so annoying.” Sal whined while collecting his things. “This better not become some sort of trend.”

Murr’s eyes squinted as he smiled. “Lighten up! Honestly, I’m happy for you two. I knew—well, hoped—this day would come eventually.”

“Me, too.” Joe added. “It’s about time. Q, I bet you’re thinking back on the past twenty years and goin’, ‘Oh my god, it’s so clear to me now. Sal _did_ have a huge boner for me.’”

Sal tilted his head back and covered his face. “Can you lay off, already? You’re making me sound so—”

“Either way.” Q started. “We’re gonna be headin’ out. It’s gettin’ late. Sal’s probably thinkin’, ‘We’ve wasted enough time with these two today already.’” He rooted into his pockets to make sure his car keys were there. “See you two morons tomorrow.”

 

_Thinking you’ve got it figured_

_Thinking you’ve got a grasp on how it all works now_

_But it’s_

_Spinning you round and round_

_Can you tell up from down?_

_Spinning inside your mind_

_Can you tell wrong from right?_

_Nothing to do but let it go and enjoy the ride_

A week and one day had passed since Joe and Murr’s relentless teasing. Q and Sal sat lounging in the corner of Sal’s sectional, a television show playing that they, admittedly, weren’t really watching. The cautiousness that initially clouded every intimate thing they did with each other had finally mellowed out. Everything still made their hearts speed up, but at that point, it was a good feeling and not an anxious one. Although they wouldn’t really say it out loud, the two of them acclimated very well to their new relationship. However, they didn’t feel a need to give each other verbal recognition, their actions towards each other said more than any words possibly could.

Q had his arm around Sal’s shoulders, the other’s head tucked away just under his jaw. “Hey.” Q started, his cheek resting against Sal’s unkempt hair. “I’m gettin’ kinda hungry. Wanna order somethin’ in?”

Sal had had his eyes closed for the last few minutes, focusing on the gentle rise and fall of Q’s chest, and the way that his breath rustled the strands of his hair sometimes. “That’s fine. Chinese food?”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing.” Q shifted and searched through his jacket pocket for his phone. “Want me to call it in?”

Sal didn’t budge. Instead, his eyelids fluttered open just enough to look at how his knee was nudged right up against Q’s. “Yeah. I don’t feel like talkin’ to anyone else right now.”

“ _Anyone else.”_ Q thought momentarily. “Sure, bud. The regular?”

“The regular.” Sal repeated.

Sal let his eyes close again as he listened to Q talk on the phone, reciting the same order and specifications that he had heard so many times over the years. Everything felt comforting, warm, loving. He didn’t want to sit back and overthink the situation by counting his lucky stars, he didn’t want to worry about how times like this might come to an end, he just wanted to enjoy everything that was happening now. When Q hung up, he put his arm around Sal and pulled him into a bear hug, hoping that the action got across the absolute adoration he had for him.

Sal adjusted his glasses as best he could in his confined state. “You got me in a vice grip, buddy.” He chuckled.

Q leaned into Sal heavily and sent them both shifting to the opposite direction.

“You’re heavy.” Sal whined as he found himself slowly becoming sandwiched between the couch and the shaggy man on top of him, smiling all the while.

“Sally…” Q sighed near Sal’s ear and burrowed against his shoulder lazily, breathing in the scent of clean clothes and the shampoo and conditioner he always used. “I feel like we haven’t moved since I got here.”

Sal thought back on the hours upon hours they had wasted that day. He had gotten a text from Q at noon when he woke up that asked if he could come over, and Sal of course, accepted gladly. When Q arrived, he kicked off his shoes and the two of them immediately plopped down on the couch together, the television channels and the hours they spent tangled up amidst one another blurring together.

“Yeah.” Sal concluded. “We haven’t moved an inch.”

“Fine with me.” Q breathed.

“Me, too.”

“Joe and Murr have lightened up on us, don’tcha think?” Q arched his eyebrows as he looked towards Sal.

“Finally.” Sal rumbled with a small laugh. “The probably got bored.”

“They had to stay quiet for twenty years or somethin’, right?” Q asked. “No wonder they were so incessant for a while there.”

Sal groaned. “Ugh, don’t start. You’ll start sounding like them. They say the same thing all the time: ‘Well, Sal, we couldn’t tell anyone for so long, now we have the right to mess with you two, don’t we?’” Sal imitated Joe and Murr in a mocking tone.

Q laughed. “Whatever. They’re idiots anyway.”

Sal responded with a hum.

For months, Q had battled with the questions buzzing in his head. He had so many things he felt like he had to ask Sal, but the timing was always off. On tour, Sal was feeling especially emotionally compromised, when they got home, they only had a couple of weeks before the huge fallout between them, and now, even though everything had begun to smooth out, Q was hesitant to rock the boat again. But now, with Sal safely laying half way underneath him, Q felt like the opportunity had finally arisen.

“Twenty years, huh?” Q started. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

Q tried to rephrase himself. “When you realized you liked me, I guess.”

Q could sense Sal’s immediate hesitation, and while that made Q nervous, he was always like this. There was always a moment when Sal thought twice about telling anyone anything, and this time was no different.

“This is so embarrassing.” Sal shook his head a little. “Back then… it was awful.”

Q fought away the frown that was trying to work its way onto his face.

Sal continued. “I felt weird and trapped. I was in this limbo state of trying to deny it and trying to stop myself from telling someone about it because it was eating me up inside.” He paused. “I think it was senior year of high school when I first had those feelings. At first, I put it off as me being jealous of you or something, but it didn’t take me long to figure out it wasn’t that at all.”

During the lapse of Sal’s speech, Q heard the Local on the 8s come on and he realized they had had the television on The Weather Channel for a long while.

“I dunno.” Sal shook his head again. “I dealt with it for, like, two and a half years before I caved and finally told Joe and Murr about it during college.”

“So…” Q stepped into the line of dialogue. “What, you called them or somethin’?”

“Yeah. We were all kinda far apart from one another, but I still felt like I could trust them.”

“What did they end up saying?”

Sal thought for a minute, trying to dig through all of the memories he had filed away over the years. “Murr was kinda shocked. I remember him sayin’ somethin’ like he ‘didn’t see that comin’ from me.’ Joe though—the son of a bitch—all he said was, ‘Well, obviously.’”

“He’s always been able to read you like a book.” Q added.

“And thankfully, you haven’t.” Sal said.

For some reason, that remark stung Q. He was sure Sal meant it as a throwaway comment, but it glued itself into the back of Q’s mind.

“I told them not to tell anyone, especially you, of course.” Sal continued. “I was overwhelmingly scared of what you’d do if you found out. Even though at the time, we were apart, I didn’t wanna do anything that would screw up the relationship I had with you. I was more scared about losin’ you than anything else. My feelings didn’t matter.”

Q subconsciously found himself pulling Sal a little closer, thinking that the gesture was the physical equivalent of him saying “You’ll never lose me.”

“After all that, life just went on. I lived every day with that in the back of my mind, but it was somethin’ I’d long grown accustomed to. In the first few years, Murr and Joe would ask me if my feelings had changed all the time, then they started askin’ less and less. Murr stopped completely, and Joe asked once in a while, I guess.”

Jim Cantore’s voice mixed with Sal’s momentarily, the information about severe weather in the Oklahoma area trying to compete with Sal’s reminiscing.

“Mm…” Sal’s voice grew nostalgic, sad. “Joe didn’t have to ask all the time if I still felt that way… I guess he just knew already.”

Q felt a coil of irritation growing tighter and tighter in his chest. He mentally berated himself for being too inattentive to notice that he was the cause of his own best friend’s turmoil.

“Sometimes it would put me in such a bad rut that I’d be sad for months. There’d be nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I couldn’t bring myself to put our friendship on the line like that. I couldn’t bring myself to risk it all just so I could tell you about some dumb feeling I couldn’t get rid of.”

Q bit his lip.

Sal tilted his head back towards Q’s, a little smile on his lips. “But, hey, I guess it’s worked out for me, right?” Sal tried to insert humor into what was quickly becoming a sob story. “Twenty years of suffering paid off.”

Q couldn’t help himself. He placed a kiss on the side of Sal’s temple and then nudged his forehead against Sal’s. He didn’t know what to say, but he felt like he couldn’t sit there and do absolutely nothing.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Q responded similarly to how Sal did earlier.

“I mean… not that I’m complaining, but, why’re you doing this with me?”

Q thought back to that stormy day in the beginning of spring. He thought back to the awkward conversation and the equally awkward hand-holding. He couldn’t quite remember all that he said, but he could remember how fast his heart was beating, and how much his palms were sweating.

“That whole week or so where we didn’t talk to each other… I’m sure you remember.” Q started.

“Of course I remember.” Sal interjected. “It sucked.”

“I did so much thinkin’. I was confused at first, then I was angry, then I just didn’t know what the hell was goin’ on inside my big, dumb head.”

Sal could tell that Q’s thoughts were racing and he was trying to pick and choose the right words to say.

“I just got to thinkin’ about our friendship, and…” Q paused to laugh at himself. “Suddenly, I realized that it already seemed like we were datin’ or somethin’ without all the kissin’.”

Sal cut in, his face turned towards the television again. “You sound so dorky right now.”

“I’m sure I do.” Q propped his head up on his arm. “But I just thought, you know, ‘I guess I wouldn’t mind kissin’ Sal. He’s a good lookin’ guy, I don’t have any issue with admitting that.’”

Sal chuckled, the television’s display of New York’s weather reflected in his glasses. “A ‘good lookin’ guy,’ huh?”

Q shrugged exaggeratedly, emphasizing his accent jokingly. “Yeah! A good lookin’ guy!”

Sal looked back at him, and for the first time, he was the one who bridged the distance between their lips.

“I’m lucky.” Sal almost whispered, a hair’s breadth away from Q’s mouth. “Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. It’s kinda scary—”

Q pecked him again, the kiss sweet and small. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. If I’m gonna do this with someone, why not do it with my best friend?”

The two of them spent a silent moment nuzzling and bumping against each other gently, the faded sound of words and music coming out of the television settling around them. Q and Sal were both surprised at how easy it was to be this affectionate with one another. Throughout their lives, they’d had no problem touching or hugging or being playfully intimate, but now that they were alone, now that it was _real_ , it almost shocked them how normal it felt. Q caught himself thinking about Joe’s words in between their little kisses, realizing that just as he had said, it’s almost as if he’d become aware of something that had been there all along.

But suddenly, something sparked in the back of Q’s mind like a flare had just gone off, and he sat up.

Sal’s eyes followed him, and he suddenly felt cold now that Q wasn’t huddled up against him. “What’s wrong?”

Q looked down at Sal while he pushed his hair out of his face. “Nothin’, I just thought of somethin’.”

“Thought of what, buddy?” Sal’s eyebrows neared. 

“A while back, during the tour…” Q started.

Sal tilted his head, puzzled.

“You said what was tearin’ you up was dreams about me, and you never told me…” Q trailed off. “What were they about?”

 

_This carousel takes us round and round_

_This crazy maze of life—you_ _can’t tell up from down_

_Having so much fun,_

_We forget to ask where this magic’s taking us_

_This carousel spins you round and out_

_You really don’t know why,_

_But it makes you want to shout_

_“We’ve only just begun,_

_Let’s enjoy this maze of life.”_


	6. Pseudo

It shouldn’t matter now. Sal knew it shouldn’t matter. After everything they had been through over the last few months, _nothing_ should matter anymore. But Sal was still staring right back at Q with the beginnings of panic starting to bubble up inside him. This wasn’t a question he was expecting, but subconsciously, this was a question he had really been fearing. Suddenly, Q felt way too close. Everything felt way too close. The confines of his living room felt more like a jail cell than anything else. Q had had his eyes trained on Sal when he asked that question, his voice inquisitive, but soft and un-prodding. Like always, Sal found himself turning his head, sitting up and scooting away to put much needed distance between them. It was a reflex he had honed after many years—look away, take a few steps back, deter any questions or instigations, put the emotions at bay.

Q watched Sal’s face like he would a computer monitor running through lines of code. He could practically see Sal going through and trying to register the right response for his query. It tugged at his chest, and Q bit his lip to keep from saying something. Despite them being in the situation they were now, Sal was still filtering himself, still being half-honest, half-manufactured.

“You okay?” Q raised an eyebrow.

Sal’s eyes darted in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner. “Yeah.” Sal couldn’t find any other words to say. To say that the question didn’t take him aback would be a complete fabrication, but to actually declare that he had been dreading Q asking what he did—well, he just couldn’t bring himself to be honest.

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he had made a mistake by letting his curiosity get the better of him. “You don’t have to tell me.” Q made himself say it.

“No.” Sal put his hands up, attempting to stop Q from saying anything else. “I guess it’s not something that I should feel I have to hide anymore.” His mouth said what his heart didn’t. Sal’s intestines knotted, his body trying to tell him to stop talking while he had the chance. His fight-or-flight kicked in, and he tried to fight the flight away.

Q didn’t realize he had his shoulders tensed up until they relaxed.

“Sorry.” Sal continued. “I guess I’m still not used to not having to hide it in general.” He rubbed the side of his neck and smiled as much as he could force himself to.

“It’s okay.” Q shook his head. “It goes without saying, but you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide anything from me.”

Sal kept his eyes downcast.

“I’m your boyfriend.” Q cupped his hands around both of Sal’s cheeks and lifted his head just enough to plant a soft kiss on his pouty lips. “But most importantly, I’m your best friend.”

Sal looped his fingers around Q’s wrists loosely and pulled them away from his face. “You’re right.” He paused. “You’re always right.”

Q chuckled softly. “I’m almost never right.”

Sal spoke when he realized Q had no intention of finishing his thought. “Most of them were recurring.” He got comfortable in his spot on the couch. “All of them were awful.”

“Never had a good dream about me, eh?” Q pulled a leg underneath himself.

Sal shook his head. “No… Some of them, I guess, would have been called ‘good dreams.’” He sighed. “Ones where I’d grow the balls to tell you, and you actually felt the same way about me. In the dream, I’d be elated. We would embrace like we never had before and you would kiss me, like something out of a horrible rom-com, but the next thing I knew my eyes would be open and I’d be starin’ at the wall with my hands clutching the sheets.”

“Oh. So, they were good dreams, but…” Q’s tone flat lined.

“All my good dreams ended and I was brought back to reality.” Sal wiped his palm across the couch, his lips set into a line. “Wakin’ back up would be like an onslaught of disappointment, because they were _just_ dreams, they weren’t real, they weren’t ever gonna be real. I’d cry and there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it. I would just have to get up and move on and try to push it outta my head.”

Q exhaled through his nose, trying hard not to think about the anxiety attacks he witnessed Sal have when they were on tour. They were hard to deal with then, but now that he knew the context behind them, Q struggled to keep himself from derailing.

“Yeah.” Sal concluded, a sad smile on his face. “The good dreams were always the worst.”

“I guess I can see why you’d rather have a bad dream.” Q looked at his hands.

“I would have taken the nightmares over the sweetest dreams any day.” Sal laughed, self-deprecating. “At least they felt real. In them, I felt like I did in real life—caged, useless, silent, and hopeless. And you were how I thought you’d be if I came clean—shocked, disgusted, rejecting, and hateful.”

“But I—” Q stopped himself when the memory of Sal telling him his feelings in the parking lot of that bar came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to speak up and reassure Sal that he hadn’t been shocked, disgusted, rejecting, _or_ hateful. But he thought about how he recoiled away from Sal’s touch back then, how he refused to look at him or talk to him for an entire week. Guilt wrapped its hands around Q’s throat, and he felt suffocated by his own self-hatred for acting in a way that mirrored what could have only been one of Sal’s worst nightmares.

“There were some dreams where I would tell you and you would have this horrible look on your face that said more than words ever could. Even now, if I close my eyes I can imagine it, and every time I do, it’s terrifying.”

Q absently clenched his fists.

Sal sighed. “I’d wake up feeling exactly like I had in the dream—like thorny vines were coiling and twisting in my stomach and climbing up into my throat. I’d be sweating and shaking and it would take everything out of me to just convince myself that it was just a dream.”

Q wanted to pull Sal in close, hold him tight and tell him that they _were_ just dreams, that he would never try to do anything to make him feel like that. But Q stayed where he was, in the dip between two couch cushions.

“In other dreams you’d punch me as hard as you could, and you’d tell me you hated me and never wanted to see me again.” Sal tried to hide a cringe. “And sometimes I’d wake up and my mouth would be bleeding because I would have bitten my cheek in my sleep.”

Q could feel his chest tightening with every word that trickled out of Sal’s mouth. He’d adjusted his position multiple times throughout Sal’s reminiscing, but the thought of Sal waking up with a mouth full of blood was enough to send him reeling. “Sally-boy…” He tried to calm the waver in his voice. “I’m sorry.” Q whispered.

Sal looked up, not even noticing he had been staring at the television remote the whole time until that moment. “What?”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that… for so long.” Q shook his head. Sometimes, he would have nightmares that would rattle him. Ones where he would still be stuck doing the same things that he convinced himself to “love” so many years ago. Still stuck in the rut of what everyone called “successful” and he called “hell.” Sometimes he’d have dreams about finally losing his battle with depression. Of course, he knew they were awful dreams, ones that would put him in a funk for the whole day, but they were nothing like Sal’s. They weren’t dreams that stuck with him for half of his life, they weren’t dreams that induced a panic attack every time he woke up, or caused scar tissue to form on the inside of his mouth from years of unintentional damage.

Sal watched him for a moment, then tried to laugh. “Hey, don’t make that face.” His eyebrows tilted downward and his shoulders shrunk a little. “It’s okay, really.”

Q scooted closer and put his hand on the side of Sal’s cheek, brown puppy-dog eyes looking into his. “Is it really okay?”

“Yeah, it’s—”

Q cut him off. “You’ve been dealing with this for so long, and you’re right here in front of me putting on this brave face telling me, ‘it’s okay, really.’”

Sal looked down, and Q’s hand moved to the back of his head, large fingers brushing against the short hairs.

“But is it really okay?” Q repeated, softer.

Sal exhaled what tried to be a small laugh. “I mean, of course it’s not really ‘okay.’ But I’m managing—I’ve been managing, haven’t I?”

Q finally put his arms around Sal, pressing their chests together and planting a small kiss against Sal’s temple. “Managing all by yourself.”

Sal put his chin on Q’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “Not by myself. I’ve had you by my side this whole time, ya know?” He smiled sadly. “Even if it was always about you, you were still the one who helped me through it. Fucked up, right?” Sal chuckled despite himself. “So, thanks.”

Q squeezed him before pushing away and holding his hands on Sal’s shoulders firmly. “I won’t ever leave you alone.” He leaned in and sealed his words with a kiss. “No matter what, you’ll always have me.”

By the time a commercial break began and ended, someone had knocked on Sal’s door, slicing through the moment the two of them had shared.

“That must be the food.” Q said without pulling away.

Sal shifted out of Q’s arms. “At least let me pay the tip.”

“I got it, buddy.” Q patted Sal’s shoulder then pushed down on it as he stood and walked towards the door.

Although he was gone, Sal still felt the weight of Q’s hand on himself.

 

_Withered flowers forget_

_What they wept for day after day_

_Withered flowers blossom_

_In the stream of tears_

_They still think of the cause_

 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Q and Sal found themselves becoming more and more wrapped up with each other. Everything seemed perfect. For the first time in a long time, Q felt like everything in his life was going down the right track. He felt happy, not just content, and not just complacent. He truly woke up almost every day with a fuzzy feeling in his chest that he was sure meant “happiness.”

Sal felt the same way, his new lease on life rightfully deserved. The nightmares mostly subsided, only surfacing once in a while on what Sal assumed to be by subconscious mental habit, not out of pure fear.

Everything felt normal, and warm, and domestic. Q had only recently started spending nights with Sal, and found that waking up to his best friend completely encapsulated in his blanket was perplexing and endearing. It wasn’t often that Sal slept later than Q, and when he did, Q found himself sticking around in bed to wait for him to wake up, usually passing time with reading a book or scrolling through his phone. He’d notice Sal rustle in the sheets before black, tousled hair would emerge from the covers, usually followed by a sleepy groan and an arm reaching out from the warm cocoon for his glasses. And as always, Q would smile and do something akin to turning the page in whatever book he was reading and say, “Mornin’, Sally.”

Their days off became routine, but never boring. Sal would fuss at Q for leaving a mess somewhere, and Q would quip back that he’d just pay the five-thousand dollars for Sal’s Cleaning Service at the end of the day. Sometimes they would lay around the house and throw popcorn into each other’s mouths during a movie they would only half be watching, and some days they would go to bars and hang out with friends and drink themselves silly.

On one particular morning at 8:36AM, the two of them bustled around Sal’s townhome in preparation for their flight later that day. The “Santiago Sent Us” tour was about to begin.

“You’ve got everything you need, right?” Sal inquired, making sure his toothbrush was secure in a sanitary case and tucked away with the rest of his organized toiletries.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Q, on the other hand, threw already rumpled clothes into a suitcase and zipped it up.

“You know you’re gonna have to steam those or somethin’ to get the wrinkles outta them.”

Q plopped back down on Sal’s bed. “I have the homeless aesthetic to keep up, remember?” He leaned onto his suitcase lazily. “It’s my job to look frumpy at this point.”

Sal scoffed lightly. “We’re gonna be doing shows, you should probably look good for them.”

Q looked at Sal blankly.

“What?” Sal knit his eyebrows and began thinking of the last couple of tours The Tenderloins did, realizing that in pretty much every single one of them that Q was wearing some old, beat-up t-shirt with a jacket and worn jeans. “Oh.” Sal stopped what he was doing for comedic effect. “You’re right, I haven’t seen you look good in years.”

While the two of them shared a comfortable laugh, Sal’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and tapped at the screen. 8:45AM. The messages from Joe came in quick succession.

_“I’m heading to the airport soon. How are you two coming along?”_

_“I mean, honestly I’m just assuming Q’s with you right now.”_

_“Am I wrong?”_

The last message had an annoying, smiling emoji tacked onto the end of it, and Sal could practically see Joe’s shit-eating grin on the other side of his phone. Sal felt his face blush. “Asshole.” His fingers typed out a reply hastily.

_“Shut up, Gatto. I’m almost ready.”_

Sal shoved his phone back into his pocket before pulling it out not even a second later.

_“And, yes, Q’s with me.”_

Q propped his head up on his hand. “Joe?”

“Joe.” Sal replied.

“What’d he say to make you turn that color?” Q grinned.

“Nothin’. He’s just bein’ stupid as usual.” Sal turned, busying himself with folding his shirts.

“Teasin’ you about us?” Q continued.

“Well, I did say he was being stupid, didn’t I?”

“Ahhh.” Q roused from his spot, the bed clothes rumpled from where he was. “I see.” He made his way across the room and looped his arms around Sal’s hips.

Sal’s hands stopped mid-fold.

“Even if they _have_ eased up…” Q buried his face into the crook of Sal’s shoulder and kissed it, warm breath making the hairs on the back of Sal’s neck stand on edge. “I guess it’s just really easy to tease you.”

Sal swallowed, his fingers tightening in the cloth of his plaid button-up.

Q nipped at his skin, enough to leave little red marks that faded after a few moments. “It’s so much fun to get under your skin.” He grinned mischievously.

Sal could feel a shiver arching its way up his spine and a familiar heat starting to build in the bottom of his stomach. “Q—” He started. “Brian… trust me, as much as I wanna do this, we’re gonna be late for our flight.”

Q whined.

“Seriously.” Sal continued.

“Fine.” Q sounded similar to a child who had just been told to stop playing with their toys.

If Sal wasn’t already red, Q’s actions definitely did the job well done. He tried his best to keep his cool and finish packing so they could get to their destination already. He tried to convince himself that there would be more alone time for them when they got to their hotel, or anywhere else private when they both weren’t placed in such a time crunch.

10:35AM. Q and Sal were rushing with their bags in the airport for their 11:00AM flight. Near the security clearance was Joe and Murr, and as soon as they saw Q and Sal, their anxious faces gave way to mild annoyance.

“You guys were almost late.” Joe crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the two men.

“Yeah, everyone else has already boarded.” Murr put a hand on his cocked hip. “Cha was about to go off, and Jay had to calm her down and basically wheel her away.”

Q talked while Sal tried to catch his breath. “We’ll deal with that later. Let’s just get on the plane first.”

“I know it’s hard for you two to stop making out for a few minutes, but—”

“Oh my god, shut up, Murray.” Sal straightened himself and adjusted his glasses, trying to hide the fact that their almost-session really _was_ part of the reason they were almost about to miss their flight.

“Hmph.” Murr stuck his nose in the air. “As if it isn’t true.”

Q shook his head. “I don’t have time to fight with you about this, Murr.”

“Exactly.” Sal agreed, waving Murr away when the security checkpoint line progressed. “Move along, ferret.”

When Murr puffed out his chest, Joe started ushering him towards the security guards, taking control of the situation as per usual.

“I don’t look like a fucking ferret.” Murr griped as he walked through the metal detector.

 

_Turning misery into meaningfulness_

_Changing day after day_

_Turning meaningfulness into misery_

_Changing day after day_

The stage was hot, and Sal was wiping the sweat off his forehead while Joe and Murr high-fived fans from the edge of the stage. The crowd had been vivacious, lively, and interactive. Sal always soaked up the energy that poured out of everyone, especially from his friends. He hadn’t felt so loose and nimble on stage in a long time—no inhibitions holding him back, no weight on his shoulders, no tension between the friend group. The night was just clicking together like the remaining pieces of an amazing puzzle.

“Hey, buddy.” Q walked up to Sal’s side and ruffled the back of his hair before slinging his arm around his shoulder. “That was good.”

Q’s face was probably closer to his own than it should have been, and in any other scenario, Sal probably would have put some distance between them. But his head was flighty and every nerve in his body felt electrocuted, still reeling from their performance.

Sal tried to fix his hair with one hand. “It was amazing—best one in a long time.” He patted Q’s back and smiled back at him, their eyes locking momentarily.

The two of them watched Joe give a row of people fistbumps while Murr crouched down to talk to some over-energetic girls.

“Hey! Tell ‘Em Steve-Dave!” Q let go of Sal and walked to the end of the stage when he caught eye of a man in the front row wearing apparel from the podcast he didn’t share with Sal.

Sal kept his distance, his back close to the curtain that separated the wooden platform he stood on from backstage, not especially taking note of the people saying his name from the front row to get his attention. He watched Q’s face light up with joy as he got sidetracked in animated talk with a fan. By the time everyone had finished up and the arena started emptying, the group found themselves walking backstage, sweaty, tired, and happy.

“Awesome show, you guys.” Jay Miller waved from a couch, his mouth half-full with a sandwich he’d been eating.

“It felt great.” Joe beamed, handing over a mic he’d accidentally carried with him to one of the people who worked in the venue.

“One of those girls gave me her number.” Murr said as he ripped up the slip of paper and tossed it into the trash can.

Q watched him while taking off his jacket. “Brutal.”

“I can’t have some chick’s number! What if she’s not over 18?”

Q tossed his coat onto Jay’s head.

“Ew!” Jay sputtered, pulling the thing off and throwing it onto the floor. “It’s sweaty and gross!”

Q laughed, paying more attention to Murr than to his workmate. “Creepy.” He kept with his one-liners.

Murr shook his head, readjusting himself. “I mean to say—I mean, I can’t just start doing stuff with fans like that. It’s a nice gesture, I guess, but…”

“Don’t act so modest, Murray.” Sal pulled a bottle of water from the cooler and opened it, grateful for the icy liquid cooling his sore, burning throat. He wiped his mouth across his sleeve. “Coming from the same person who _auctioned_ himself off to a fan? We all know there’s no goodness in your heart.”

Everyone in earshot laughed, sans Murr.

Q stretched and scratched his stomach through his shirt. “I’m tired. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“What? You don’t want to go drinking or anything?” Murr tilted his head.

“Hell no. I’m beat.” Q huffed.

“Me, too.” Sal seconded.

Murr and Joe cooed, edging closer to one another.

“I see where this is going.” Joe winked exaggeratedly.

Jay shook his head, nibbling the crust of his sandwich. “I’m staying out of this conversation.”

It was only recently that Q and Sal had come out to a select few of the crew about their relationship, and the newness of them knowing still embarrassed Sal slightly. Q, however, was more than happy to finally be able to dote over Sal in their midst. Q would never say it out loud to anyone, but the affinity he had for Sal often overwhelmed him, and sometimes he couldn’t help it any longer. He just had to fawn over the other.

Q yanked Sal close and placed a rightfully rough kiss on the side of his cheek. “You’re damn right you know where this is going.” He said, only half joking.

“Eugh.” Sal cringed, half at Q’s wet lips on his face, and half at the fact that everyone could see them. “Come on, man.”

Q had a gruff, teasing grin on his face as he put his weight on Sal.

“You’re gonna make me fall over, you dope!” Sal pushed back, and the more that Q kept teasing and poking at him, the harder it was for him to hide a little smile from creeping onto his face.

Joe shrugged. “Lovebirds.”

 

_Your affection, your affection_

_Taking pride from fear_

_Your past will tell you_

_When to make yourself a hero_

12:25AM. Q tried to get them to make out in the elevator of their hotel, but Sal stopped him when he remembered that there might be a camera watching them, saying something like, “What if a security guard is a fan of the show and they see the two of us doing this?” Q had groaned and rolled his eyes, thinking that Sal’s paranoia was completely unfounded as it generally was. When Q fished in his pocket for his room key and let them both inside, he couldn’t keep his hands off of Sal, and finally, with privacy ensured, Sal felt the same way.

Q kicked the door shut and cupped his hands over Sal’s jaw as he kissed him. “You looked so cute during the show tonight.”

Sal’s eyes lidded a little. “I could tell you were watching me.” He laughed breathily.

Q’s hands roamed over Sal’s chest, across the familiar SALLYRETRO★NYC shirt. “I could barely take my eyes off you.” He spoke between kisses. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tweeted at me about it.” He smiled.

Sal’s grip on Q’s shirt tightened as he pulled him closer, the front of their bodies flush together. “I fuckin’ hope not.”

Q nudged Sal’s chin with his nose to tell him to tilt his head up. “You’re such a worry-wart, as always.” He teased, choosing to leave a trail of hot, spine-tingling kisses across Sal’s throat. “Don’t worry about that stuff right now. Not while you’re with me.”

Sal could feel his body heating up, and by the time Q had pushed him onto the bed and crawled between his jeaned legs, he might as well have been panting. Q wrapped his hands around Sal’s wrists and held them against the pillow above his head. He looked at Sal in the dim hotel lighting, noticing his chest moving up and down and how flushed his face was getting.

“Not gonna lie, Sally…” Q shook his head and laughed at himself. “But I really can’t wait to fuck you.”

Sal’s face somehow shifted into a deeper shade of pink and red. They’d done this dozens of times over already, but he still wasn’t used to it. He almost didn’t want to get used to it, either. “You’ve got such a mouth on you. This is why no one wants to be with you.” Even though his mind was screaming the complete opposite of what he was saying, he couldn’t resist his chance to quip back and pinch off a little of Q’s ego.

Q leaned down and kissed Sal’s ear, earning a sigh and groan from the man beneath him. “Exactly. Why’re you with me again?”

Sal tried to laugh, tried to play off his inherent and damnable embarrassment. “Even I don’t know—oh my god.” His words trailed together.

Sal’s train of thought derailed when Q rolled his hips against his own. His brain failed to form coherent thoughts through the white hot fog that was overcoming him; he was seeing stars.

Q flipped his hair and brushed his fringe out of his face. “That’s a good look you’re making, Sally.” Q could tell his own breathing was becoming a little more ragged, and he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to tear Sal up. “I don’t wanna tell you you’re pretty, but _damn_ you’re pretty.”

“Oh, god, shut up.”

 

_Highly spirited with pride,_

_Saving those left under the forgotten houses_

_Highly spirited with courage_

_Taking all the blame_

_Means losing the game_

10:34AM. Q opened his eyes to find a curtain of his own hair covering his face. Even though he was wrapped up in the hotel blanket, he was grateful that the temperature of the room was sub-zero. Q groaned when he finally decided to stir, the bed moving and shifting with his weight.

“Finally awake?” Sal’s voice greeted him from the other side of the room.

Q turned his head and threaded his fingers through his hair. “What smells good?”

“No ‘good morning’?” Sal laughed. “I went down to the lobby and brought back breakfast.”

Q inched his way to the edge of the mattress and leaned over it to grab his boxers. “Smells good.” He pulled them on.

Sal turned his attention back to his pancakes. “Come eat, then.”

Q padded across the room and stood over Sal, inspecting the little buffet table he had make-shifted.

Sal looked up. “I got some of your favorite stuff.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Q leaned down and pecked Sal’s lips.

“Ugh. You need to brush your teeth.” Sal’s nose wrinkled.

“I haven’t been awake for five minutes and you’re already on my damn back.” He smiled even though his voice was flat and lifeless.

“Someone’s gotta take care of you.”

“It’s always been you, huh?” Q reached for a milk carton and a styrofoam bowl full of cereal.

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say it out loud, but…” Sal bumped knees with Q under the small, round table.

“Eh.” Q shrugged and spoon-fed himself, his elbows propped up on the table. “I’m fine with it.”

Sal smiled at his breakfast. “Anyway, we’ve got a free day. Wanna explore the city or somethin’?”

“Sounds great.”

The air was muggy outside of their posh hotel, and as soon as they stepped outside, they almost wished to go back and lay on the cool, marbled flooring of the lobby for a few more minutes. The dead-middle of summer was finally here. Tall, green trees loomed in the backdrop of everywhere they could see, and loud cicadas and overhead birds gave them the signature soundtrack of summer. The area was unbeknownst to them, and although the oppressiveness of the weather was trying to weigh on their shoulders, Q and Sal’s desire for adventure pressed them on. They didn’t know where they were going or even really why, but they were with each other, and that’s all that mattered.

“It feels like a washing machine out here.” Sal wiped his forehead and adjusted his sunglasses. “Sometimes I think New York is hot and gross feelin’, but then I come down south and I’m like—”

“’Oh, shit,’ right?” Q finished.

Sal chuckled. “Exactly.”

Q smiled and bumped shoulders with Sal gently, earning a little smile and shove back from the other. He wanted so badly to grab Sal’s hand and hold it all throughout the day. He wanted to dote on him and let everyone else know how much he adored him. He wanted the world to know that Sal was his and he was Sal’s. But he knew how Sal was. He knew that as soon as Sal registered that Q was trying to interlace their fingers, he’d pull away, say “not now.” It was strange, and Q thought about it often. For so many years, Sal wanted so badly for what was happening between them to happen at all, and now that it was, he still kept walls up, still kept people out. Q was more open, Sal was not—“I keep my private life private,” he would always say. Walking through the sunny, southern park, maybe Q thought he could change that and make Sal come out of that shell a little bit. Make him feel a little more proud. Q knew there was nothing wrong with “keeping private life private,” but Q thought maybe this would be different because _he_ was different. He just chalked it up to Sal’s commonplace neurotic behavior as always.

“You look a million miles away, buddy.” Sal said, bringing Q back into reality and out of his thoughts.

Q put a smile back on his face. “Sorry. This heat is somethin’ else, I swear.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Sal sighed. “It was so much easier to deal with this when we were kids, huh?”

“’When we were kids…’” Q repeated. He thought back to their raucous, drunken, youthful days and smiled nostalgically. “Would you do it all over again if you had the chance?” He stopped in the middle of the walkway, and after taking a few more steps forward, Sal did too.

“Huh?”

Q saw Sal’s eyebrow raise just above the rim of his sunglasses.

“I mean…” Q began. “Do you ever wish you could do everything all over again with the knowledge you have now? You know, I wish I could go back and slap the shit outta myself sometimes. I’d probably change everything.” He paused. “I like where I’m at right now, for the most part. I’d just go back and make the road to where I’m at now a little easier.”

Sal smiled, his shoulders relaxed. “I think everyone wishes they could do that. That whole ‘no regrets’ thing is a bunch of bullshit.”

“You’re saying you’d go back too, then?”

“Of course I would.” Sal shrugged and continued walking over the wooden bridge they had pressed pause on. “Come on.”

Q caught up quick enough. “What would you change?” Q inquired.

“That kinda stuff doesn’t matter. It’s not like I can _really_ go change anything anyway.”

Q watched the worn, wooden planks pass beneath their feet. “That’s true, I guess.”

“What about you?”

Q laughed. “I just said I’d go slap the shit outta myself, didn’t I?”

Sal laughed back and motioned with his arms. “Yeah, but slap yourself for what?”

Q shook his head. “For everything, I guess.”

 

_Days go by_

_Without quiet nights_

_Flowers blossom when you believe_

_Days go by_

_Without sunny days_

_Flowers blossom when you leave me_

7:40PM.

“Uhm… Vanilla is fine.” Q spoke to the boy behind the counter at a local ice cream shop, the tip of his finger pressed against the glass, pointing at the half-empty tub of white ice cream.

“One scoop or two?” The boy replied, readying Q’s waffle cone.

“Two.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he handed Q’s cone to him from over the counter, the boy turned his attention to Sal. Q watched Sal hold his fingers to his chin and hum as he browsed the selection. It was a normal moment that should have felt like nothing, but the more he watched Sal, the more he adored every time he thought Sal made a selection, then went and changed his mind to something else.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock. You’re takin’ all day, Sally-boy.” Q teased.

“I can’t make up my mind! You know I’m not good with decision making.” Sal squandered, the boy across from them both standing with a scoop in one hand and a cone in the other. Sal looked back at the ice cream case. “Uhm… I’ll take two scoops of the caramel swirl ice cream.”

“Coming right up.” The boy replied.

Sal turned his attention over to Q. “Geez, how many calories do you think is in this thing?”

Q lapped at his own frozen treat, nibbling on the cone. “Too many. Who cares?” As always, it was more of a statement than a question.

“I guess so…”

Q slung his free arm around Sal’s shoulders. “We’re kinda on vacation. Enjoy yourself.”

“We literally had a show yesterday, and we have a show tomorrow.”

Q remanded his sentence. “One day vacation, then. Enjoy yourself.”

Sal huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

By the time they paid and left the shop the sun had finally begun to set, and not a moment after they had decided to start walking back to their hotel, a group of people pointed at them and began to approach.

“Oh, geez.” Sal said under his breath.

“Hey! Q and Sal!” One girl said, excited.

Another member of the group spoke up. “Can we get a picture with you guys?”

“Of course.” Q said, smiling as best as he could at the prodding, excitable teens. “There’ll be ice cream in your pictures, though.”

“That’s fine!” One of them beamed, scooting a little too close to Sal for either of their comforts.

The two of them sandwiched with the fans and posed for a picture, holding up their melting ice creams all the while. When they separated from the fans and gave them thanks for watching the show, one of them spoke again.

“Where’s the others?”

“At the hotel, I guess.” Sal spoke. “Me and Q are out walking around by ourselves.”

“Yeah.” Q said, looking at Sal and then at the others. “We haven’t seen them all day, actually.”

Sal nodded. “We were just heading back to the hotel now...” He gave them their signature getaway phrase.

“Aw, that’s too bad! But you two are my favorites anyway.” One of the girls in the group fawned. “We’re in town for your show tomorrow. Are you guys going to be out drinking anywhere tonight?”

Although they had actually planned on doing just that, the two of them didn’t want to make plans with complete strangers.

“We’re too old for that kinda stuff.” Q joked. “You don’t even look like you can legally drink either.”

One of them spoke up. “I have identification that says I’m twenty-one.”

Another member of the group laughed. “Yeah, Murr bought it for me on Canal Street.”

Q and Sal laughed at their Impractical Jokers reference and thanked them again for being fans before sending them on their way.

Ice cream had begun to melt over Q’s cone and run over his fingers. “Do you think that was mean?”

“How we were with the fans?” Sal asked.

“Yeah.”

“No. We’re spending the day with each other. There’s nothing wrong with wanting some time to ourselves.” Sal said, confidence and relentlessness laced in his voice. “We give, give, give, all the damn time.”

Q sighed, pleased that the two of them were on the same page. With no napkins on hand, Q ran his tongue across his fingers to get them clean.

Sal’s nose wrinkled at the sight. “Dude! Your hands are probably so dirty, don’t do that!”

Q stuck his tongue out and leaned towards Sal, hoping to get a reaction.

Sal jumped sideways and almost bumped into someone. “Gross, don’t even try it!” Melted ice cream sloshed out from inside the cone and fell right onto Sal’s shirt. He guffawed. “Do you see what you made me do?” He motioned at the stain dramatically. “I thought I would get through the day without spilling something on myself, but I see now that I should just never hope for anything ever again!”

“You’re _such_ a baby. I’ll help you clean it up when we get back to the hotel.”

“I think at this point you’ll only cause me more harm than good.”  

Q laughed at Sal’s bristled body before the two of them died back down into conversation. When they stepped into the hotel lobby, Q and Sal shared a simultaneous sigh at the rush of cool air that washed over them.

Sal’s shoulders slumped. “I feel absolutely gross.”

“Same.”

The two of them climbed into the elevator and pushed the button that called to the fourteenth floor. The elevator was silent besides the music filtering through a speaker on the ceiling. Q and Sal leaned against the back wall of the metal box that encapsulated them, the long day of walking finally settling into their bones. When the elevator chimed and the doors opened, Murr was standing on the other side.

“Hey, you two!” Murr raised his hands. “I’ve been wondering where the two of you had been all damn day. Taking a romantic stroll?”

Q rolled his eyes. “Well, I thought it would be a decent day, but here you are to ruin everything once again.”

Sal chimed in. “And quit sayin’ that shit. I don’t want someone to hear you.”

Q glanced at Sal while the two of them stepped off the elevator and into the hallway.

“’Quit sayin’ that shit.’” Murr mocked, only getting two pairs of rolling eyes thrown at him. “You two are coming drinking with me and Joe right?”

“Yeah.” Q took out his phone and looked at the time. 9:18PM. “Joe can be our designated driver.”

“Obviously.” Murr said, arms crossed. “He’s the one who’s always done it.”

Suddenly, Sal thought back to that night so many months ago when Joe came to his house the night he talked to Q in the parking lot. He thought about how he was on the phone with Joe with a slurring, drunk Murr in the background. If his stomach wasn’t so tight at the thought of remembering that panic attack, he would have been annoyed at the memory of Murr.

“I’m gonna go take a shower first. I feel disgusting.” Sal shifted his weight onto one foot.

“Yeah, I can tell by the huge ice cream stain.” Murr grinned.

Q laughed.

“That one was Q’s fault!” Sal pointed. “ _He_ made me spill it on myself!”

“You should wear that shirt when we go out tonight.” Murr advised.

“I’m going to empty an entire bucket of ice cream all over your Men’s Wearhouse buy-one-get-three-free collection.” Sal puffed up.

Murr ruffled, and before he had the chance to spit out a reply, Q started chauffeuring Sal down the hallway. “Go ahead to the bar. Text us the address when you’re on your way and we’ll meet up with you.”

Murr pushed the button for the elevator. “Yeah, yeah. See you soon.”

When the metal doors closed, Sal began fishing through his pocket for his room key. “He’s such an idiot.” When he clicked his card into the security lock, he turned to Q. “I’ll be done in, like, thirty minutes. You go clean up, too.”

“All right.” Q patted Sal on the shoulder before returning to his own room, where all he did was turn the air conditioner on as high as it would go and flop down on the bed, certain that Sal’s “thirty minutes” were more like “an hour and a half.”

 

_Your affection, your affection_

_Leaves the trace_

_Your affection, your affection_

_You know it leads to the end of the story_

 

1:23AM.

Q, Sal, and Murr tapped their shot glasses on the bar before downing them. Q’s nose wrinkled on its own, and Sal’s shoulders grew rigid and his eyes squeezed shut at the after-burn of the liquid going down his throat. Murr, like always, made a high pitched noise and wiggled around while waiting for the taste in his mouth to go away.

“You could always just have a chaser, ya little brat.” Q shoved Murr’s shoulder playfully.

“I don’t need a chaser.” Murr slurred, his fourth shot downed. “I’m a big boy.”

Sal cringed, laughing all the while. “Oh, god, stop sayin’ stuff like that, ya lightweight.”

“I can’t help it.” Murr put his hands on his hips. “I don’t drink all the time like you two idiots. _This_ is a special occasion!”

“What’s the occasion?” Q humored him.

“I dunno. I’m sure it’s someone’s birthday!” When he was done rationalizing his behavior, Murr bounced away from the bar and into the crazy crowd of people dancing around a Coca-Cola wielding, faux drunk Joe.

The air inside the club wasn’t that much different than outside. Hot bodies jumping around, making the room torrid and humid. When Q and Sal had arrived, they weren’t particularly in the mood to be there—all worn for wear from their daylong walking excursion. Joe and Murr, as always, were eager to jump into the party. Joe became the life of the room, and though sober, acted as drunk as any other guy next to him. Murr soaked up compliments from everyone in the room on his dapper clothing and novelty bowtie, enjoying and reveling in all the people stroking his overinflated ego. Q and Sal had almost long outgrown this type of scene, only being able to stomach it when they were in certain moods. Age had really taken a toll on them. But after being dragged in by the others and downing several shots of Jameson, the two of them were feeling a little more loose, and a lot more like actually being there. The music was pounding in Q and Sal’s eardrums as they ordered their next rounds of shots.

“Put it on Joe Gatto’s tab.” Sal half-yelled to the bartender, a devious grin on his face.

“Be careful.” The man on the other side of the counter lined up their shot glasses. “He’s sober. He’ll remember all the money you run up on his card.”

Q laughed. “Who knows at this point.”

They clinked their glasses, tapped the bar top, and then tipped the liquid into their mouths. Sal’s fist balled at his side as he slammed the shot glass back on the wooden bar, and Q fake-boxed him in the chest, teeth clenched into a crooked, half-forced smile.

“Holy shit.” Sal chuckled as he looked at the man in front of him, the circumference of his vision starting to spin and warp. “Dude, I’m kinda drunk.”

“Kinda?” Q slung his arm around the other’s shoulders, taking note of how flushed his face had gotten. “You’ve _been_ drunk.”

Q and Sal made their way to the edges of the main crowd, away from people drunkenly badgering Joe to chug what they didn’t know was a full glass of soda, and away from a cocktail-sipping Murr.

Everything in Sal’s mind was getting fuzzier by the second. He could still feel the thud of the music in his chest, but the sound of it was getting a little muddled—blurring in with people’s loud conversations and Q’s voice next to his ear.

“You’re not gonna take advantage of me, right?” Sal played, wobbling a little on his feet.

Q handled his liquor way better than Sal ever had, and they both knew it. Certainly, Q was feeling the effects of what was coursing through his system though. He felt flighty and buzzed and pleased with pretty much everything. He grinned. “I’ve been taking advantage of you for over twenty years.”

Sal shook his head and laughed. “I fuckin’ know, right?”

Q laughed back, ruffling Sal’s loosely styled hair. “The fact that you know that and you’re still hanging around me says a lot about you, ya know?”

“Oh, shut up.” Sal swatted Q’s hands away and tried to do damage control on his hair, not realizing that the humidity had already made it fall. “You know I wouldn’t be anywhere in this dumb world without you.”

Q shrugged, playing off the sentiment. “Yeah, that’s pretty true.”

Sal elbowed him in the side. “Asshole. Come on, it’s boring over here.” He pulled Q into the mix of people, everyone around bumping up against their shoulders and almost stepping on their feet.

“What’re you doing, dummy.” Q shrugged his shoulders against some guy who got sandwiched up against him. “You know I can’t dance or anything.”

“No dancin’.” Sal responded. “Everyone’s just kinda jumpin’.”

Q feigned irritation.

“Don’t be a stick on the mud.” Sal smiled.

“I think you mean ‘a stick _in_ the mud,’ buddy.”

It was unlike him, but he went along with Sal’s incessant nagging. The more he jumped around the more friction there was between himself and Sal, and after a few minutes Q could start to feel like he was getting lost in the crowd. It wasn’t something he’d ever admit, but it was kind of fun. Everyone’s energy poured out into the same room. The music blared and the strobe lights overhead warped his vision into greens, pinks, blues, and whites. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Joe ordering his new friends a round of shots and Murr thanking some random person for buying him another drink that probably tasted like a cherry Jolly Rancher. In the tight circle of people, with everyone having their own agendas, Q and Sal found themselves flush against each other—having a private moment in a sea of bodies. They got close and briefly shared a sloppy, chaste kiss that Sal wouldn’t have done if he were in his right mind.

“Hey.” Sal’s smile grew bashful. “I love you.”

He had to play the words back over in his head to make sure he _really_ understood what Sal had just said, and suddenly, Q couldn’t discern whether it was the alcohol sloshing in his stomach or Sal’s words that made him so nauseous.


	7. Signs of Resistance

_Everything seems better in a memory._

 

Depression was a tricky thing. Sometimes Q could feel it coming, and sometimes he couldn’t. When he did, it was like slipping down into a deep, dark rut that he swore he’d never enter again. It would be one of those things where every day that passed got a little worse than the day before. He’d become snappier towards his friends, he’d be even later than usual for work, and some days he just wouldn’t be able to bring himself to get out of bed. On the other hand, when those feelings snuck up on him all at once, he just woke up realizing that his mind had gotten the better hand over him again. A lot of times, Q couldn’t discern which one was worse—knowing for a while that he’s going to hit rock bottom, or just realizing one day that he was already there.

2:49PM. Q’s eyes reluctantly opened from a restless fourteen hour sleep, hungover. He wanted to sleep all the time, but when he could, it wasn’t restoring like it should have been. It didn’t help clear his mind or help him through his thoughts. In fact, it may have only made them worse—escapism with nowhere to really _go_ only made the situation that much more unbearable when he became conscious again. He pulled himself out of bed, his body feeling much, much heavier than it really was. For the second week in a row, Q hadn’t left his house. Dirty clothes littered the floor throughout the dwelling, and needless to say, the ones that adorned his body weren’t clean in any respect either. The unswept, crumb-filled floor felt gross to walk on, and every few steps, Q found himself wiping his feet against some discarded shirt. As he plopped down the stairs heavily, the creaking wood echoed through the dead house. Downstairs, Benjamin and Chessie laid on the couch in a patch of unwelcome sunlight. Although they couldn’t fix everything, spending time with his cats afforded Q some slim comfort, a distraction from the train wreck in his head. After their shows in Florida, the gang had almost three months off work, and if Q was ever appreciative of the timing of his depression attacks, he was glad it was happening when it was. He could hardly deal with living every day, there was no way he could handle the responsibility of getting himself to work and then making himself look happy on camera as well.

His midday glass of whiskey tasted similar to what he drank at that club less than a month ago. He and Sal had dated for almost a year up to this point. The weather was beginning to cool down rapidly, and when he woke up every morning with the crisp air biting at his skin, it reminded him that he was nearing the anniversary of everything that had happened. Almost a year since the “Where’s Larry?” tour ended, almost a year since Sal’s anxiety attack filled sleep in the series of hotels that were temporarily home, and almost a year since his confession. Every time he thought about it all, his mind spiraled out of control, so instead, he drank, and drank, and drank. He cleared through his stash of Jameson that had been given to him over the years by What Say You? fans. But even that was a bitter reminder of the fact that the reason he even had all the alcohol in the _first place_ was because of something he did with Sal. No matter where he looked, no matter what he did, Sal was always there.

Love was a tricky thing, too, and it wasn’t something that Q did very well. He’s had more short-term and one-night lovers than he could count on his fingers and toes. In his younger days, he kept up with who he hung out with and who he slept with, but as he grew older, he cared less and less. Love was a thing he could do with or without, and it definitely wasn’t something that he sought out on his own terms—if it happened, it happened, and if it didn’t, he didn’t complain. It was always so much work. A significant other was a lot of effort, a lot of energy. Love required a lot of emotional strength and mental stability that Q didn’t really have. So, he usually steered clear. Although he didn’t bear any ill-will (generally) towards his ex-fiancée, he took what happened to him as a lesson in relationships. ‘Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.’ It wasn’t that he was being cheated on and left all of the time, but emotional compromise is something that Q didn’t handle well. The only way to not experience it is to avoid it altogether.

Sal, on the other hand, craved love. He loved to be loved, and he loved to love back. He had a heart full of gold buried under his neurotic tendencies and unfounded anxieties. He felt everything so deeply and fully, and Q loved that about him. He loved that Sal felt what he told himself he couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t. He thought they had found their happy medium. Although a little awkward at first, their relationship was exactly what they wanted. Sal got to be loved and give love to someone he had always loved in the first place, and Q got the benefits of being with someone he was close with without a lot of the drama and hangups that usually follow with a newly founded relationship. Being with your best friend meant everything, that is, until everything gets ruined.

“ _I love you_.”

Sal’s words constantly rang in the back of Q’s mind, and every time he remembered Sal’s alcohol-flushed face and almost sheepish smile, he felt his stomach roll and twist. Q told himself often that he shouldn’t have taken those three words so seriously, that his nausea when Sal said them was completely uncalled for and baseless. They had been best friends for over twenty-five years, and something _more_ for close to a year. Saying, “I love you” should have been natural— _should_ have been natural. Love was a tricky thing indeed. At first, Q would have done anything to hold Sal’s hand in public, to tell everyone how happy he was to be with him. Sal had always made him the happiest, so what was wrong with “I love you”? It wasn’t as if it was the first time Sal had said it, but it was the circumstances that had changed. They’d become more than lifelong best friends with a popular television show and a successful career as comedians, and that started to scare Q. Those three words meant a line had been crossed that couldn’t necessarily be erased.

Truthfully, Q felt the same way, if he was being honest with himself. He loved Sal so much that the simple thought of him squeezed his chest and made his mind fuzzy and body flighty. If Q had said, “I love you, too,” he wouldn’t have been lying. But saying, “I love you” is the same as admitting that you have a lot to lose.

 

_What we finally found wasn’t what we wanted_

_I wish I could have gone back to where we started_

_Back to black_

_I can’t see what’s around me_

_Back to black_

_I hope I gain some control_

_I gave up everything_

_I tried to have it all, now I’m stuck in the middle_

_I couldn’t have it all, now I’m all alone_

_I’ve been down and out, now I’m stuck in the middle_

_I’ll never get to say, “This is enough.”_

 

Q’s phone had been off since the show went on hiatus. Production was at a standstill, and Q felt the same way. He had completely cut himself off from the outside world. Murr could have been murdered, Sal could have ended up in a terrible car crash, Joe could have gotten a divorce, the show could have been cancelled, and Q would have had no idea about any of it. He almost liked it this way, having everything in limbo.

“No news might as well be good news.” He said as he tipped his glass back and swallowed the contents.

But he knew it wouldn’t last—it never does. Just like when Q and Sal didn’t talk for almost two weeks after their scene in the bar’s parking lot, it all comes to its eventual end. No matter how hard he tried to keep the page from turning, the story went on with his consent or without.

“What’s today?” Q inhaled, the air stale. The calendar pinned to his refrigerator was still flipped to the month before, deadlines and dates scribbled across the matte surface. He’d been stuck in such clockwork that he’d lost all sense of time. The rise and fall of the sun was all he could barely keep track of. He stepped in front of the calendar and looked at all of his past endeavors, reading them aloud.

“The 5th, I went grocery shopping with Sal.” He’d spent more money than he usually did, lavishing Sal with anything that he picked up and said he wanted. They had walked through the store and bumped shoulders and smiled at each other while Sal picked out which apples he thought were the crispest.

“The 13th, a date with Sal to our favorite pizza parlor.” He remembered the day clearly, cool in the morning, but hot during the day. Sal had worn an old pair of shoes because he had become accustomed to Q affectionately bumping against his feet under the table. Sal liked plain pizza usually, and Q liked ham and pineapple.

He placed his palm flush against the fridge, the cool stainless steel a shock from anything he had experienced lately. “The 20th through the 22nd, Sal spent the weekend with me.” Sal had watched Q play video games all night on Friday, his head resting in its rightful place on Q’s shoulder. On Saturday they had ordered in food, shared a bottle of alcohol, and halfway watched a movie in bed, sharing slow, deep kisses until the moon hung directly above them in Q’s skylights.

The rest of the dates included locations for shooting Impractical Jokers and deadlines and such. Q hadn’t even thought about all the memories jotted down on the calendar and how reading them would send his mind swirling into a whirlpool of repressed nostalgia. Before he realized it, tears were burning the corners of his eyes. His forehead knocked against the calendar as he bit his lip, the sickly taste of iron bubbling onto his tongue. His palms went flat against the paper, his sweaty palms sticking to the bottom portion of the calendar with his scraggly handwriting adorning it. Q’s mind raced, flashes of Sal’s smiling face flickering behind his eyelids while he clenched his fists in the pages and ripped the calendar from the refrigerator, the magnets holding it in place clattering to the tile floor. Q tore the calendar in half, then in half again, then again, and again, the generic, printed woodland scenery becoming smaller and smaller. He threw the fistfuls of crunched paper into the corner of the kitchen before wiping away tears he didn’t know he’d been crying.

 

_Now I’m left with nothing_

_Now I’m left with nothing_

_Now I’m left with nothing_

_I’ve got to take some time to get this out of my way_

_No matter how I try to fight it_

_Nothing changes_

 

Q had twenty missed calls and over one hundred text messages. The majority of them from Sal.

The ones from Sal started off easy, sent just a couple days after their vacation started, but they got more anxious and worried as the days progressed without any response. Q skimmed through some of them in the long stream of their message log.

_“Hey, buddy, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Wanna get together sometime this week?”_

_“Still haven’t heard anything from you, are you feeling all right? Or are you just caught up in some video game again?”_

_“No one’s heard from you either. Are you okay? Don’t make me worry like this.”_

_“Why aren’t you answering my calls?”_

_“I’m worried, stupid. Don’t make me come over there. I love you, pal.”_

When Q saw those three words on the lit up screen, his stomach rolled so much that he feared he’d be sick. He stopped looking at Sal’s messages. From memory, he dialed a number on his keypad.

“Hello?!” The voice on the other side of the receiver picked up after just two rings.

“Hey, Murray.” Q’s voice crackled from being unused.

He could hear Murr take a deep breath, unsure of where to even begin. He had not been murdered after all.

“Do you have _any_ idea how worried we have all been?”

Q could hear the irritation in Murr’s voice as well as the undertones of relief laced in his words.

“Sorry.” Q said lamely.

“ _Sorry_?! _”_ Murr yelled, his voice echoing through his apartment. “Sal has basically been crying to all of us for a week! I’ve—He’s—We’ve all been worried sick!”

Murr’s high pitched voice rang in Q’s ears, loud. “Sorry…” Q began again. “I, uh, had my phone—”

“You just _fucking_ stop.” Murr cut him off. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes to whoop your ass for all you’ve done.”

Q inhaled and sighed, listening to Murr gripe.

“And clean your house, because it’s probably fucking disgusting at this point.” He spat before he hung up.

Instead of cleaning, Q put his phone on the counter, unlocked the front door, and made his way to the couch. Benjamin butted his head against Q’s hand, asking to be pet. He rubbed a finger against Benjamin’s face, earning a low, rumbling purr from the black cat.

“I love you, Ben.” Q cooed as he scooped up his cat and planted a kiss on the top of his head like he always did. Even though he didn’t want to, he had flashbacks to Sal getting freaked out every time any of the cats appeared. It never made sense to Q, but it had become an endearing character trait that he always wanted to see when Sal was with him. He’d leap out of his skin if Benjamin jumped on the couch, and scoot closer to Q in bed if Chessie decided to come around, begging him to make the cat leave the room. Everything he touched linked back to Sal in some way, and every time Q realized it, it felt like someone was squeezing his chest as tight as they could.

He sniffled, burying his forehead against his cat gently. “I’m scared to love him, Benjamin. I’m scared that I love him so much.” Q struggled to swallow the painful lump in his throat. “I’m scared what we’re doing has gone too far.”

Benjamin chirped in response, sniffing uncertainly at Q’s wet cheeks. For the next half hour, Q tried to level his breathing and stop his intermittent crying. In the middle of one of his dry spells, Murr let himself into the house like he usually did.

“Ugh.” Murr’s voice sounded from the foyer. “It fucking stinks in here.” He walked into the living room, pulling his scarf from around his neck. “I thought I told you to clean up. You couldn’t even spray some Febreze or anything?” Murr put a hand on his hip.

Q just shrugged.

Murr took shallow breaths, the still air beginning to clog his nose and throat. “It’s chilly, but let’s open a window anyway. It feels like something’s died in here.”

“I might as well be dead.” Q said as Benjamin jumped out from his arms and walked into the kitchen for some water.

“We all thought you might as well be dead, too, you idiot.” Murr opened a window, the cold air rushing inside and making it hard to breathe for a second.

“I just had my phone off for a while, that’s all.” Q pulled a leg onto the couch.

“Why?” Murr took his usual spot on the sofa.

“Needed to unplug.”

Murr rolled his eyes. “Don’t hand me any shit. You’ve been acting weird since the end of the tour.”

Q opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“Got any explanations?” Murr goaded.

“It’s Sal.” Q said in a sigh.

Murr crossed his legs. “I think we all knew that already.”

“Do ya think Sal suspects it’s about him?” Q’s eyebrows knit worriedly.

“Well, sure he does.” Murr started. “Could you blame him?”

Q looked down at his hands.

“After everything he’s been through about you—with you—of course he thinks it’s about him. He went crying to Joe the other day about it because it had been so long since you talked to him—to anyone.”

Guilt started to bubble up inside Q’s stomach. It wasn’t as if he didn’t think what he was doing would have consequences, but to hear Murr spit them all right in his face was making everything go downhill a little quicker.

Murr ripped Q out of his thoughts. “So, what is it about Sal that has you all reclusive and depressed this time?”

His mind went straight back to the club. Right back to that chaste, drunken kiss, those fluttering eyelashes, that small smile. Q felt sick.

“Sal said he loved me.”

Murr blanked. “And?”

“ _And_ so that’s a big deal!” Q raised his voice. Benjamin lifted his head.

“It’s a big deal that your best friend for over twenty-five years, and boyfriend for upwards of a year tells you he loves you?”

In theory, it makes sense. In fact, to probably everyone else besides Q, it makes sense. But instead, it sends Q’s mind stumbling and fumbling for answers and explanations on how to act or feel.

“You wouldn’t get it.” Q shook his head, choosing to take jabs at Murr instead of answering him. “You’re not capable of things like _love_ or _understanding._ ”

Q could feel himself getting irritated with Murr’s prodding, even though it was all well-deserved. He owed explanations, but hated giving them. Murr understood this though. He knew well enough that the only way to really get Q to be honest with him was to pry those doors open, even if it meant Q would kick and scream the whole way through. Murr called upon his past experiences in these situations with Q, where he would seclude himself from everything and everyone. It took work, but eventually he would open up, and generally, Q felt better after it was all over anyway. Q knew he was putting himself in a toxic situation by being alone all the time, but that never stopped him from doing it over and over again.

Murr chewed at his lip and tried to let Q’s retort pass over him. “What happened?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Q waved him off. “I’ll deal with it on my own.”

Murr sighed. “You’re no good at being on your own. You’re self-destructive and you do stupid things—much like you’re doing right now.”

Q almost winced, the truth of it cutting deep, reminding him that this wasn’t the first, second, or third time he’d done something like this, but it had happened so many times that at this point his behavior had become commonplace.

“It’s weird, Murray.”

Murr could feel the hairs on his arms begin to stand on end, the cold air rushing in and filling the space around them. “What is?”

Q hadn’t really looked outside in a while. He knew it was starting to get cold out, but he’d never talked himself into actually looking to see what anything outside his coffin of a home looked like. He lifted his head, his neck stiff and sore from always being pointed downward. His line of sight went past Murr’s head, past the fluttering window dressings, past the tree positioned to the left of his window. Everything was bright and gray. The wind rustled trees that were littered with half green, half brown leaves. The sky was overcast, clouds looming low, filled with the uncertainty of rain. The beginnings of winter were here. Everything was painted in a shade of light blue. Long gone were the hints of yellow and orange that everything in summer was bathed with. When Q took a deep breath, he noticed the air stinging his nose and throat and lungs.

“Would it be weird to say that—maybe—in some way that I can’t really explain, I’ve always loved Sal?”

Murr's eyebrows raised, then settled closely above his eyes. “But I thought that wasn’t the case.”

Q shook his head. “I thought so, too. I think I thought so up until very recently, actually.”

“So, what, you realized you’ve always loved him like you’re in some shitty rom-com?”

Q grimaced, the thought of that trope actually being correct leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “No, not like that, idiot. I dunno how to explain it. It’s like… when I think about losin’ him, it fuckin’ scares me so bad. But when I think like that… I feel like I’m almost feeling _too_ much, and I wanna push him away.”

Murr crossed his arms and tilted his neck awkwardly, trying to digest Q’s words. “Yeah, you’re not making any sense, as usual.”

Q’s thoughts tossed and tumbled in his head, growing hotter and hotter like an overheating clothes dryer. “I just think this whole thing has been one big mistake.”

Murr felt his stomach lurch into his throat, and he was positive Q saw his expression falter into one of brief fear before regaining composure again. Although Murr was skillfully hiding it, panic was starting to take hold of his mind. Everything had finally settled down. After over twenty years of keeping a secret from Q, Joe and Murr finally had that weight lifted from them. Sure, there were certainly times during (and after) that confession that had definitely put a strain on their relationship, but soon enough it was over, and everything was smooth sailing. Q and Sal were the happiest they had ever been, and truthfully, Joe and Murr enjoyed seeing them together. They both knew that Q and Sal struggled mentally with a lot of things—anxiety, depression, neuroticism—things that make living a lot harder than it already is. To see them at peace, completely happy, it brought more joy to Joe and Murr than it probably would have to any other normal human being.

“What do you mean it’s just been ‘one big mistake’?” When Murr closed his mouth, he could tell his throat had gone dry from breathing the sapless, cool air. “I thought you were happy—you _just said_ you were happy.” Suddenly, nightmare scenarios started flying through Murr’s head of Q and Sal’s prospective breakup. What would happen between all of them? How would their dynamic as a friend group change? Sal would surely have some sort of collapse, and the way things were going, Q probably would, too.

“I am—was happy.” Q shook his head, his eyebrows drawn together so tightly it felt like someone was drilling into his temples. “But it’s always the same—nothing is forever.”

Murr became hyperaware of everything happening around him, from Benjamin’s feet hitting the floor after he jumped off the back of the couch, to the sound of the refrigerator making ice. Murr felt like he could, and would, see and hear everything happening around him, but he knew if he looked away from Q for even a moment he would miss something—some facial expression, some noise, some _anything_ that would give him information on how his mind was currently operating.

Q knew he had to say it. He didn’t know if when he said it he would feel better or worse, but he had to do it. Maybe those words stuck in his throat like barbwire functioned the same way throwing up did. The more he tried to keep it down, the worse he felt. If he just went ahead and let it out, he would feel better—at least, that’s what he had hoped.

He took a breath, noting how his shoulders raised then descended as he exhaled. “James… I know I’m in love with him.” He didn’t feel like anything had been lifted off of him, in fact, Q felt even more like something was weighing heavily on his whole body. Q felt stupid and weak. He berated himself mentally for letting this grip him so terribly. Suddenly, Q felt as if some dam had busted inside of him. Tears welled in his eyes so quickly and hotly that by the time he realized he was crying again, he already had wide, watery streaks going down his cheeks. He balled his fists and ran them across his eyes harshly, unintentionally pulling out eyelashes. Q’s throat threatened to swell completely shut, and he struggled to sit there amongst Murr and not make a sound.

Murr could feel his heart speeding up in his chest, and he started to panic. While Q’s depressive dips were not few and far in between, _tears_ were. Murr lifted his hands, scared that if he touched Q he’d break. “Bud—Buddy—”

Everything tumbled out of Q at once. When he opened his mouth to speak again, he felt his voice crack. “I _know_ I’m in love with him. I’m _so_ in love with him.” He was cut short by a sob. “I knew it the first time I kissed him and the first time I held his hand.” Q could feel his fingernails pressing deep into the skin of his palm, threatening a breach. “Maybe I didn’t wanna admit it back then. Maybe I didn’t wanna think about its eventual end.” Q felt the room closing in on him, and even though the window was letting in cold, fall air, he felt hotter now than he had all summer. “I ruin everything myself. I overthink it and drill it into my head so fuckin’ deep that—that the only thing I can do is leave it all behind.” Briefly, Q thought about his history with self-sabotage. If everything in his life was going smoothly, it didn’t feel like his life anymore. Subconsciously, he always felt like something had to be _wrong._

Murr didn’t know where to start, he didn’t know how to talk Q down from the metaphorical bridge he was about to jump off of. His mathematical mind that was always calculating what to do next and everyone’s next move suddenly came to a complete, halting stop. He was no good with emotions. He didn’t know how to handle them, so he just didn’t have any. However, that also meant when it came to someone else, he never thought he was good enough to truly help them, never thought he was good enough to truly say or do the right thing. He could sympathize, not empathize.

“I’m scared to lose him, Murr.” The confession fell from Q’s lips amidst the sniffling of his nose and the breathy cries that echoed off the walls. “And I know I’m gonna lose him one day.”

Murr swallowed, his eyes wide.

“I shouldn’t have ever done this with him.” In the back of Q’s mind raced all of the delicate moments they’d spent together over the year. The gentle touches, the feathery kisses, the long hugs, the conversations under the covers, everything. Even though he wasn’t there, Q could practically sense on his fingertips the way Sal’s hands felt—the way he’d brush over his knuckles on the way down to his fingertips, and then go back up again. Q thought about his smooth, uncalloused palms that hadn’t done anything more strenuous than turn bottles of vodka upside down in his whole life. “I shouldn’t have ever done this with him.” Q repeated. “There’s so much more to lose now. The stakes are so much higher. If this never would have happened—if he never would have liked me—if I never would have liked him back, this situation wouldn’t be happening.”

Murr placed his hand on Q’s shoulder and scooted closer to him on the couch, eventually wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders. Q kept his face turned away, biting at the spot on his lip that had bled earlier before Murr arrived.

“Buddy.” Murr started up again. “You know I’m no good at this.” Murr stared past Q’s shoulder towards the foyer, towards the door where he was certain Q and Sal shared many goodbye kisses. He looked in a different direction. “I never know what’s going on in that big head of yours, but, you know Sal loves you. We all love you. And I know you love Sal… We _all_ know you love Sal.”

Q nodded, tears wetting Murr’s shirt. “I love him, Murray. I just wish it wouldn’t have wound up like this. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it ending between us. I’m scared.”

Murr knew this was being brought about by Q’s mental state, and he tried his best to understand. “I know you’re scared of losing him. I know you’re scared by what might happen.”

Q sighed, and Murr felt his breath on his neck. “I don’t want it to blow up in all of our faces. I just wish this never would have happened.” Q paused. “I know I’m not makin’ any sense.”

Murr agreed, it didn’t make much sense to him, but the best he could do was sit there and try to alleviate his friend’s feelings as much as he could. “Hey, let’s take this all one step at a time, okay?” He pushed Q away and looked at him with his hands firmly in place on his shoulders. “It might not solve everything, or _anything_ , but let’s try to get your mind off of it for a little while.”

The thought of not having these thoughts swirling in his head like a tornado for just even a moment sounded appealing to Q. “Okay.” He agreed in a crackling, muted voice.

Murr pat him on the arms. “Why don’t we start by cleaning up the pigsty you call a home. Go get in the shower first though, all right? You look like a goddamn wreck.”

“Okay.” Q repeated.

Murr got up from his spot on the couch and started picking up half full glasses of whiskey and plates with molding food on them. Q sighed and drug himself up on his feet before ascending his mountain of a staircase. As he wandered down the hallway, he could hear Murr downstairs starting the dishwasher and putting things away in the cabinets they belonged in. In the bathroom, Brooklyn sat in the sink toying with the toothpaste with her paw. Q pulled his shirt over his head, noticing then how much it smelled unwashed, and briefly felt embarrassed that Murr was hugging on him in his lowly state. His eyes lidded as he stepped into shower. The hot water made his skin puff up redly, and without conjuring it, he had a flashback to showering in the hotel before he confronted Sal about his odd behavior from the year prior. The thoughts hit him so suddenly and with such severity that Q felt a sharp pang in his chest, and to make himself snap out of it he opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings, reassuring himself that it was all in his head.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Murr dried his hands on a dishtowel in the kitchen while looking around for the next thing to do on what was sure to be a long list. That’s when he noticed it—the scraps of paper thrown down in the corner of the kitchen near the refrigerator. He bent, resting on his haunches to look at it, the tail of his shirt wanting to come free from under his belt.

“What is this?”

He sifted through the papers and combined the shreds again like a misshapen puzzle. As much as he could, Murr read the unkempt handwriting.

“Grocery shopping with Sal… A date with Sal…” Murr frowned down at the wrinkled fragments, realizing what had happened, and fearing what may happen next.

 

_Falling to pieces walking,_

_I don’t care_

_Walking in shadows burning,_

_I’m okay_

_I fade away to ease the pain_

_I sway in the wind_

_Dissolve in tears_

 

Joe had been waiting outside of Sal’s house for a good ten minutes before the wind started to kick up again. He couldn’t hold back a shiver as the chill cut through his windbreaker. Joe pulled his fist from his coat pocket and rapped his knuckles against the door again.

“Sal, hey, it’s damn _cold_ out here.”

Without thinking, he jiggled the doorknob, and when it didn’t give any resistance, Joe’s eyebrows drew together. He pushed the white door open, leaning forward and sticking his head inside. The warm air on his face thawed his cold nose and throat.

“Buddy, why’s your door unlocked?”

When Joe stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he was greeted with a disturbingly familiar scene—a dustless foyer, shiny stair railing, freshly vacuumed carpets, cloying scent of Febreze. Suddenly, Joe had tense flashbacks to the night Sal told Q everything, when everything had been so perfectly manicured, and then perfectly manicured again for good measure.

“Sal?” Joe called out, a little louder than when he came in. He stood frozen in the foyer, one hand on the deadbolt, listening. From across the house, Joe could hear water running and cabinets softly opening and closing. Instinctively, and without taking his eyes off the direction of the sound, Joe took his shoes off and kicked them over to the wall. When he reached the entrance to the kitchen, he could see Sal scrubbing his counters with a Lysol wipe.

“Hey, Sal?” Joe said, gentler; a far cry from the loud voice that he usually adorned.

Sal’s shoulders went rigid, and quickly, as to almost hide the fact from Joe, he wiped across his eyes with his back still to him. When he turned, he put a smile on his face that Joe took no time in seeing through.

“You’re here?” Sal shifted his weight onto one leg, trying to come across as lightheartedly surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Joe knew full and well that he was expecting him, and that his red eyes betrayed his falsely happy nature. It was quite unlike Sal to not have his door locked, but the fact that it, indeed, was unlocked and waiting for Joe’s arrival, meant something entirely on its own. Joe didn’t need to scrutinize Sal, or ask him what was wrong, or what had him all teary eyed and tired looking. He knew, and he was sure that Sal knew that he knew as well. The two of them shared a lofty moment in the kitchen while the faucet still ran behind Sal’s back. It had been a couple of days since they last saw each other, and although Sal wasn’t in the poor state that Joe had seen him last, he was positive Sal was just a mere push away from being in the throes of it again.

“How have you been holding up?” Joe bridged the distance between them, punching Sal lightly on the shoulder and reaching back to twist the knob of the faucet. Amidst the final drips hitting the stainless steel sink, Joe heard Sal take in a shaky breath.

“Been better. Been worse.” Sal shook his head and looked down at the linoleum flooring.

Joe leaned against the counter, his head tilted towards Sal’s.

“But still pretty bad…” Sal added, deflated.

Joe patted Sal’s back, the silence beginning to envelop them both.

“Hey, let’s go sit down.” Joe ushered Sal to the living room, the feeling of their feet sinking into the plush carpet.

At this point, Sal’s living room was a dangerous place. It’s where everything bad had seemed to happen over the course of the past year or so. It’s where he’d had breakdown after breakdown after breakdown with Joe. Walking into this room and sitting down might as well be the same as holding a ticking time bomb and waiting for it to eventually explode. The two of them sighed simultaneously as they took their seats on the couch, Sal and Joe feeling very much like patient and therapist, respectively. Joe heard the heating unit of the house turn on and the gentle whispering of the warm air coming up through the vents on the floor, the noise a welcome addition to the silence between them. Joe geared up to have the same conversation for what seemed like—and in actuality, _was—_ the thirteenth consecutive day. Sal looked at his hands, rubbing the pads of his thumbs together, his lips drawn into a downward line.

“What did I do this time, Joey?” The seemingly “all right feeling Sal” that Joe had walked in on had crumbled away, leaving in its place the upset, confused, hurting, and worried Sal.

The picture was bleak and accurate. Joe hated more than anything seeing it. Although his stomach twisted and turned at every tear that fell from the man’s eyes, Joe knew in his heart of hearts that if he let himself falter, it would only make Sal’s situation worse. He had to be strong enough for the both of them. Sal knew this fact as well. He didn’t go a day without cursing the inability to stand on his own two feet. Every time something in his life went awry, he went running to either Q or Joe, hoping and internally pleading that they would help him get back on the right track again. Like always though, they did. And while Sal appreciated it more than he could articulate in words and actions, he knew that over the years he’d formed this sort of unhealthy dependency on the two of them. The ending result had since become Sal being often unable to handle things on his own. Although he had the cognitive ability to make judgements on what path he should go down or what step he should take next in any given situation, he always doubted himself.

Joe felt bad. Hearing Sal say “this time” made his chest tighten. Sal always blamed himself, felt that he was the common denominator in everything that went bad in his relationship with Q. Joe knew that as he said it, Sal was thinking back on every single moment of their lives where there was turbulence between himself and Q.

“There’s no ‘this time,’ buddy.” Joe put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands.

Sal began to get upset, or rather, the dam holding back everything had begun to crack. He could feel his throat growing hotter by the second, his eyes beginning to burn with every passing blink. As much as he wanted to will it away, he couldn’t.

“What did I do?” He pressed again.

Joe’s eyebrows tilted downward, drawn together tightly. Without noticing, his leg bounced up and down in rapid succession, and he stared down the barrel of Sal’s impending panic attack. He wanted to steer it off course as quickly as he could, but he didn’t know how. After all these years, Joe didn’t really know how to be anything but _there_ while it happened.

“You didn’t do anything.” Joe reached across the couch to grab Sal’s shoulder, to get his attention. “You’ve been telling me over and over again that everything until after the show in Florida was fine, and that after that, he just started acting weird.”

Sal bit down on his quivering lip, tears he tried so hard to keep from falling becoming encapsulated in the scruff along his cheeks.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Joe reassured.

“Well then what’s goin’ on?” Sal questioned, his voice creaking on the edge of loudness.

Joe was at a loss. “I can’t answer that.”

“I wanna make it work.” Sal closed his eyes, his eyebrows strung together. “I wanna make _us_ work. But it won’t if he doesn’t talk to me. It won’t if he doesn’t let me inside his head.”

Joe sighed through his nose, his eyes cast downward at the beige carpeting.

“He’s always like this.” Sal shifted his body away—away from the bay windows, away from Joe’s gentle gaze. It was a pitiful attempt in hiding. “What, he thinks I can’t handle him when he gets depressed, so he just shuts me out?” He paused. “What, he thinks he’s the only person who has a hard time with this stuff?” Sal wiped his eyes across his sleeve. “Doesn’t he think about _me_?” As soon as the words escaped him, Sal knew how pathetic he had sounded. A crackling sob broke free from his throat, emptied out into the echoey room.

Joe moved across the couch beside Sal and looped his arm around the man’s shoulders, and as always, almost as if prompted, Sal turned his face against the other’s plaid shirt and cried. Sal felt himself being drained in every single aspect—mentally, physically, emotionally—everything that had been building up inside of him, everything that he had been trying so hard to suppress gushed out of him at once. Joe held him tight, determined to ride out this storm just as he had every other one. Sal clenched the back of Joe’s shirt, fearful that if he let go he may not recover from what he was going through. He felt weak and discouraged, as if everything leading up to this point had been ripped out from underneath him, as if it had all been pointless in the end.

“I wanna go back.” Sal muffled against Joe’s shoulder, the cloth under his eyes thoroughly moistened. “I wanna go back and do it all over again—find out what I did wrong.”

“Sal, I don’t think you did anything wrong. I really don’t.” Joe pat his back firmly. “I think Q’s just going through a—a _thing_ right now.” Joe knew that Murr was on the other side of this line trying to handle things with Q as well. He hoped sincerely that when he finally got a chance to talk to Murr about everything that he reported back with good news. Joe picked up where he left off. “I think you just need to give him some time, okay? It’s always worked out in the end.” Joe pulled Sal away and held him at arm’s length, looking into green, watery eyes. “You’ve lived through so much more.” Joe pointed at him. “You’ll live through this, too. Okay?”

Sal nodded weakly, a feeble attempt at recognition and understanding of what Joe was trying to portray to him.

“It just sucks, ya know?” Sal looked down, attempting to hide his face. “After everything, after all those years, after all the stuff that’s happened now.”

“I know how much you love him.” Joe affirmed. “We all know how deeply you love him. We’re gonna try to make it work—and I’m sure Q will, too.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sal responded mutely.

“Until then, do you want me to stay?” Joe put distance between them again. “Do you wanna get outta the house for a while?”

“No.” Sal was quick to shoot down any interaction with the public—god forbid any fans come up to him when he was like this. “Just stay for now.”

5:29PM.

Several blocks down the road, Q had made his decision.

 

 

_Picking up all my pieces, like a ghost_

_Wander the rainy forest, like a wolf_

_I say to myself, “Embrace the world”_

_I sail away, end all my dreams_

_It’s underway_

_It’s underway_

_I just have to say the words_

_I just have to say the words_

 

10:48AM.

When Sal read the text message, he got tunnel vision. Everything outside of the vision of his phone screen didn’t exist.

“ _Can you meet me at my house?”_ Is all it read.

In that moment, Sal had never felt panic burst from his chest and into his bloodstream as quickly as it did then. Today had been the start of the third week without any contact with Q, and to break the hiatus, _that_ was the message he received. Sal gripped his phone, his eyes unblinking, rereading the message over and over again to let it sink in that that was truly what the words said and meant. Suddenly, he threw the phone onto the bed. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it any longer. He had to get it away from him. He had to get away from the reality that now existed. Whatever was destined to happen was _about_ to happen. Sal stood in his bedroom in the same spot he had heard his phone _ding_ , rooted in place. Time stood still, the room felt like it was full of static, and everything and nothing was happening inside Sal’s mind. He had to go, he knew he had to, but every cell and fiber of his being was warning him that this meeting couldn’t end well. When he moved again, his motions were rough and jittery. Sal made his way into the bathroom, pausing to turn on his shower. While the water heated, he found himself stuck in place again, thoughts of what could, would, might happen racing through his head. Robotically, Sal shed his clothing, stepped into the shower, and didn’t even register the hot water making his skin grow warm and red.

Sal closed his eyes, trying to will his conscious to clear for a few moments—just long enough to get ready and walk to Q’s door. Everything went by methodically—he showered, he brushed his teeth, he primped his hair, he put on clothes, and by the time he was mindlessly putting on his shoes, he had realized he was about to take that plunge. Sal’s stomach seesawed within him, a nauseous feeling starting to claw its way up into his throat. He dipped his phone into his jean pocket and wrapped his hand around his doorknob, taking a deep breath before pulling the door open.

He’d been out since the whole odd separation between himself and Q had gone on, but every single time he stepped out of his house, he felt so overly sensitive to everything going on around him that by the time he got back home, he was so thoroughly fatigued that he had to rest for hours to recover. The cold air rushed against his face, his hairspray-held hair trying hard to stay stiffly in place. The clouds rolled and tumbled above him, threatening with either snow or rain—at this point, Sal couldn’t even guess. He set out, closing the door tightly behind him and taking slow measures to make sure he locked his door, hearing the tumblers turn over in the deadbolt. Mechanically, he put his keys into his pocket, put his hands into his sweater, and trekked onward, each step becoming more difficult to take than the last.

11:22AM.

Sal’s finger was a millimeter away from Q’s doorbell when the block of wood in front of him suddenly opened, and on the other side, Q stood. Sal’s eyes widened, almost as if he had just come face to face with a stranger.

“Hi.” He sounded almost breathless, his arm and hand frozen in place.

When Q opened the door, the flood of light into his vision from the outside seemed heavenly. To see Sal standing right in front of him felt surreal, like if he reached out to touch him, he would evaporate into thin air, his hand grasping at nothing. Q had put a lot of thought into the conversation he and Sal were about to have, and he thought he had mentally prepared himself to have it, but when he saw Sal there, swallowing hard against what was sure to be a lump in his throat, he felt himself unwillingly back down.

“Hi.” Q echoed Sal.

Sal’s emotions heightened to a level he hadn’t felt in a long, _long_ time. He felt adrenaline take over his body, and before rationality could tell him to take it easy, take it slow, he bridged the distance over the threshold and towards Q. There, in the open doorway, their lips met after almost a month of inactivity between them. The two of them felt sparks ignite in their chest, and although it went against what Q had thought he’d be doing, he hastily cupped his hands around Sal’s jaw, tilting his head, obliging deeply into the kiss. Sal grabbed quickly at Q’s shirt, pulling him closer in an act of desperation. After a long moment, the two of them separated, Q butting his forehead against Sal’s gently before peppering his cheeks with kisses.

“What’s been going on with you?” Sal’s voice strained, and Q could hear it. “I’ve been out of my goddamn mind…” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

Q’s hands slid along Sal’s neck, across the short, prickly hairs on the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” He said, making effort to not make direct eye contact. “I know that doesn’t mean anything though.”

“What’d I do wrong?” Sal’s emotions started to get away from him. “How can I make it better?”

Q cooed at him, closing the door behind them to give them privacy. “Listen, it’s not you—I swear it. It’s me. I’m just being stupid.”

Sal bit hard at his trembling bottom lip. “I feel like—I swear I thought about you every minute of every day.”

Q’s mouth met Sal’s again, shushing the other’s words. “I—I—I felt the same way, too.” Q admitted, stuttering all the while.

Sal had so many questions. Everything in his head was going so fast and every emotion that was berating his chest was happening with such extremity that he felt like he would short circuit at any given moment. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, nothing would come out.

Q tried to reign himself in, tried to tell himself that what he was doing was for the better. But he knew—he knew he fought a battle that he could only lose.

Q took a deep breath, pulling apart from Sal, keeping him at arm’s length. “Let’s sit, okay? You look like you’re about to fall out.” Q put a little smile on his face, pretending he didn’t feel the exact same way.

Sal looked down at the floor and nodded.

 

 

_Everybody needs somewhere_

_Everybody needs to cry_

_Everybody needs somewhere_

_Everybody needs somewhere_

_Everybody needs to hurt_

_Everybody needs to hurt_

_I say to myself, “Embrace that world”_

_I sail away, end all those dreams_

 

Joe plopped down onto Murr’s couch with a sigh, looking around the room he used to know so well. He took a long sip from his glass of Coca-Cola and looked at Murr, who was situated in a chair across from him next to the television.

“It feels like forever since I’ve been in here.” Joe licked the wetness off his lips. “Nothing’s changed, really.”

Murr shrugged and let his hands fall to his knees with a _slap_. “Yeah, Joey, it’s all the same.”

Joe glanced down the hallway, catching sight of a poster for the first season of Impractical Jokers. It made a lot of emotions well up inside of him. He felt proud that they’d come so far together, made such an impact. He thought back to how impressed they were to do shows in front of a couple hundred people and how now they did shows for thousands at a time. He felt humbled, but something inside Joe’s gut twisted in the wrong direction. He kept his gaze on that poster, looking through the glare on the glass frame. He remembered posing for that photoshoot and how many times they had to retake it because Sal would lose his balance or Q would get a cramp. Joe smiled at himself. They were such simple times. As proud as he was, as happy as he was, as humbled as he was to be in the position he was now, _those_ were simpler times—and Joe missed them.

“What’re you looking at, buddy?” Murr said with a raised eyebrow, breaking through Joe’s concentration.

Joe turned his head back. “That poster.”

Murr nodded, knowing. “Yeah. It’s weird, you know? A lot of times I’d walk down the hallway and pass by it without even really noticing it’s there, but lately every time I walk by it I can’t help but to stop and look at it.”

“Yeah. Hey, for someone who has no human emotion, we kinda feel the same way right now, I think.”

Murr rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He rubbed his thumbs together. “How’s Sal?"

Joe didn’t miss a beat in responding. “Not good. You could figure that much out by yourself, I’m sure.”

“No better? Not _any_ better?”

“If anything, Murray, it’s been getting worse as the days pass.”

Murr sighed.

“What about Q?” Joe continued. “You saw him, right? How’s he holding up?”

Murr talked whilst shaking his head. “He’s no good either. He’s locked himself up tight. He doesn’t want to talk about anything.”

“As always.” Joe groaned.

“When I got there, he had destroyed a calendar with all his important dates with Sal on them. It looked like he’d run the thing through a shredder.”

Joe looked troubled.

Murr went on. “It’s obvious he’s taking this whole thing some sort of way, too.”

Joe nodded. “He’s probably got some bad issues going on in his head about it, I’m sure.” He made hand gesticulations around his skull to emphasize.

“Absolutely.”

“Was he like Sal was when I talked to him? At the end of the conversation was he just in the same place as he was when you found him?”

Murr mulled over his time with Q, his blood running cold at the remembrance. “I don’t know, man, but I don’t think it’s going to be any good.”

Joe gripped his glass a little tighter, his fingers gliding across the condensation on the clear cup. “Yeah… I don’t think there’s a happy ending in sight for us right now.”

 

 

_I tried to have it all,_

_Now I’m stuck in the middle_

_I couldn’t have it all,_

_Now I’m all alone_

_I’ve been down and out_

_I’m stuck in the middle_

_I’ll never get to say, “This is enough.”_

 

They’d had a talk, a _long_ talk, and not the one Q had planned on having. Everything poured out of Sal like a dam that had burst. He cried and hiccupped and Q couldn’t help himself—at every moment he got, he kissed Sal like he was a form of life support, like he was the only thing grounding him to this world. He would swipe his thumbs across Sal’s wet face to clear them of tears before leaving trails of kisses along his cheekbones.

“What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?” Sal had asked all night.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Q responded all night.

Currently, Sal sat enveloped in Q’s arms, the white noise of the television in the background. Everything had gotten quiet. They had gotten quiet. Q hoped that Sal wouldn’t pick up on the fact that he was incredibly stiff. He hoped the guy huddled up close to his chest was so tuckered out that the only thing he could focus on now was his own breathing.

Q wasn’t too far off the mark.

Sal’s eyes were so dry from crying that for every minute he had them open, he had to close them for five. His entire body, emptied of adrenaline and heightened anxiety, felt limp and lifeless. But he was infinitely thankful to be in Q’s house, to be getting cat hair on his clothes, to smell a home that had become so familiar to him over the years. He felt like he was being reestablished into a life he had once been estranged from.

“I love you.” Sal said tiredly, his voice hoarse.

Q felt something lurch into his throat, and instead of responding, he just pulled Sal closer and planted a hesitant kiss on his head, burrowing his nose into the crests and curls of his wavy hair.

“I can stay here tonight, can’t I?” Sal spoke again.

“Yeah, of course.” Q’s warm breath flooded against Sal’s scalp, proving to be another reminder that he was actually _there._

“In your bed?” Sal asked.

“Yeah.”

“With you?”

“Yeah.”

Sal sighed, relieved. “I’m really tired.”

Q ran his hand up and down Sal’s arm, coaxing him into relaxing more. “I know, baby. Why don’t you go get in bed, and I’ll bring you something warm to drink.”

Sal stirred, lifting up from his position. Q felt a weight off of him.

Sal nodded. “That sounds good. Something with—”

“—Honey in it.” Q finished. “More like, something with Nugget’s guts in it.”

Sal smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s do a What Say You? tomorrow too. It’s been too long.”

Q stood. “It’s always been too long. Go upstairs.”

Sal obliged and trudged upwards while Q walked into the kitchen. He boiled some water on the stove before putting a teabag in Sal’s favorite, chipped mug. While he poured the water into it and added the honey, he sighed, thoughts clouding his head. Q lifted the teabag in and out of the water, hoping the hurry the steeping process. He wasn’t sure where he’d go from this point. It could, and would, only get worse. When Q got upstairs, Sal was already in his pajamas in bed with the television on, a Magic Bullet infomercial playing in the background.

“I’m here.” Q walked to the edge of the bed and sat on it, finally taking notice of the dark circles under Sal’s eyes and how tired he looked. Q bit his lip before continuing. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Sal sat up in bed, his shoulders hunched, and took the cup.

While Sal sipped, Q ran his fingertips across Sal’s hair. He couldn’t deny that everything felt “alright”—like some sense of faux peace had settled around them again, like the boat had finally stopped rocking. Q hated that the night didn’t go as he planned, the longer he waited, the worse it would be, the _harder_ it would be—and it was already hard enough.

Sal was thankful for the tea—black, with two tablespoons of honey—because after all of the hours he breathed cold air and all the time he’d spent crying, his throat had gotten completely raw. The first swallows stung him, but after that, he felt soothed. Everything felt better. Over the last few weeks, he’d felt as anxious as the time that he told Q he had feelings for him, and before that, the time he had to share a room with Q on tour. He hated the feeling, and he hated that he was used to it. When he handed the cup back over to Q, he sat it on the nightstand and rose from his seat. Sal settled down in his spot, _his_ comfortable spot on Q’s bed, and sighed.

Q pulled his shirt over his head and kicked out of his pants before slipping into bed beside Sal. He’d struggled all night with the competing thoughts in his head—Sal was with him and it was good, but then again, Sal was with him and it was _bad_. Q’s eyebrows scrunched together as he watched through a filter of commercials on the television.

“You okay?”

Q’s eyes went wide, snapped back into reality. He turned his head and looked at Sal, who was propped up on an elbow and looking down at him worriedly.

“Huh?”

“You were making a face. Are you thinkin’ about somethin’?”

Q did his best to give Sal a reassuring smile. “No, of course not. Not at all.”

Sal’s expression didn’t change.

“Come here.” Q ordered him gently, and Sal obeyed, he came closer.

Q slid his hand behind Sal’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, head tilted. After several moments into it, Q could feel a blush rising onto Sal’s face, soft sighs coming from him every time they broke apart to readjust. Q wanted to feel every part of Sal, wanted to memorize every curve and dip of his body, wanted to remember the way he liked being kissed or liked being touched. He wanted to remember it all before it was too late.

 

_Switch the light off_

_Welcome to the night_

_What’s the problem?_

_You’re not going to make it right_

_Bite the bullet, then pull the trigger,_

_Hold tight_

_It’s a feeling you know_

 

One month passed, and then another. Gray clouds hung permanently over the city of New York, and snow flurries happened what seemed like every hour on the hour. Q made his way to the Impractical Jokers office in Manhattan, which unfortunately, was still several blocks away. They’d come back off their mid-season hiatus, and the crew was hard at work in the office editing raw footage of the show. The wind whipped at Q in every direction, his hair pushed completely behind him one minute and then all over his face the next. He hugged himself tighter and burrowed deeper into his scarf in a futile attempt to escape the cold. Although the weather was bitter, he was almost halfway happy to be in it. An escape from his mind was always welcome to Q, and in the past months, his favorite hobby had become escapism. His relationship with Sal had continued on without a visible hitch, like their intermission was just some weird thing that happened. But as the days continued to pass, Q’s mind more and more resembled the dark skies above him. He found himself always on edge, always thinking of the worst case scenario, always reminding himself that his deed had not yet been done. The height of perpetual restlessness that gripped Q was so unrelenting that when he wasn’t completely fueled by self-induced, agonizing adrenaline, he was completely devoid of any energy at all, completely sapped dry.

When Broad Street finally came into view, Q sighed, his breath warming the fabric around his mouth before immediately cooling again. When he stepped into the multi-floored building’s lobby, he immediately pulled his scarf away from his neck and started undoing the buttons of his jacket. The room was welcomingly warm when he first came in, but the longer he stayed, the more stifling it became, the wear of his walk finally showing on his body. As he boarded the elevator Q prepared himself for another long day in the office. When he pushed the door open, Casey Jost greeted him with a wave and a nod, which Q returned.

9:14AM.

“How ya doing?” He asked, pushing his graying hair from his face.

“I’m alright, Casey.” Q responded, wiping his thawed and running nose across his sleeve. “How’re you?”

The other man shrugged, turning back to his desk. “So-so, as usual.”

Q made his way through the office, extending his goodmornings to Jay Miller and Dan Green on his way to the editor’s room. Therein, Sal and Joe sat. Q’s hand hesitated at the doorknob, his subconscious almost overtaking him and saying, “don’t go in there.” However, it had been too late—Joe looked up and smiled, inviting him to come inside. Q put his face on and opened the door.

“Hey you guys. How’s it comin’ along?”

Sal swiveled around in his chair, his shoulders going a little slack with comfort now that Q was there. “Hey, buddy. We’re just havin’ a fight over which parts to cut outta this challenge.”

Q pulled up a chair and tossed his coat over the back of a vacant one. “I’ll be tie-breaker then.”

Joe nodded, keeping his eyes on Q all the while. “Sounds good to me.”

Sal turned back towards the computer, pointing at the glass screen. “I think we should cut this part, still.” He talked towards Joe.

“But I think this part is really funny though.” Joe retorted.

“It doesn’t go with the flow of the challenge at all, see?” Sal bounced back.

“What do you think, Q?” The two of them said nearly simultaneously while looking back at him.

Q tried hard to act like he was actually thinking about the challenge or editing or anything. His head was full of fog. “Let’s keep it. It’s a good humor bit.”

Joe punched at the air and pointed in Sal’s face. “Ha! Take that, Sal!”

Sal rolled his eyes in defeat, turning back towards the desk. “Fine, I’ll make a note to include this part. Thanks for nothin’, Q.”

“Sorry, Sally.” Q sounded more apologetic than he probably should have in the context of the situation.

The rest of the day went by slowly. The office was struggling to adjust to the weather, and every time someone turned around, a person was on their fifth cup of coffee or just plain out had their head on their desk.

“Where’s Murr at, by the way? We’ve been here for a couple of hours now.” Q leaned back in his chair, stretching.

Sal texted.

“No clue.” Joe responded, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call him, give me a minute.”

Q watched Joe lazily as he held the phone to his ear, hearing it ring for what seemed like an obscene amount of times.

“Hey! Where the hell are ya?” Joe said when Murr finally picked up on the other line.

A pause.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s an office day’? This is one-fourth your fuckin’ TV show, so you better get your ass down here before I send the—the police—the SWAT team—the CIA!”

Q and Sal laughed, and Joe hung up.

“What an asshole.” He said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Lemme guess—” Sal began.

“Since it’s an office day he thinks he doesn’t have to really work.” Joe finished, irate. “I swear to fuckin’ god, one day I’m gonna snap his fuckin’ ferret neck.”

Sal laughed again while Q chuckled softly.

2:43PM.

The day went slowly. When Murr arrived, Joe hassled him about trying to stay home, but after that, everything in the office dipped back down into quietness. Joe and Sal stayed cooped up in the editing room for most of the day, pointing and smudging computers with their fingers and bickering back and forth. Murr sat at his desk and twirled pens in his hands and constantly readjusted his tie. And Q sat hunched over his desk in the corner, scribbling on a notepad. He didn’t feel like being at the office, but after his shenanigans earlier in the year when he didn’t show up for work for days and didn’t even give anyone notice, he didn’t want to push the envelope too much. But being there was hard, and Q took every moment he could to step out of the office—he went to Starbucks even though he hated coffee, he walked to a store for lunch instead of just relaying what he wanted to someone in the office, he took every opportunity to separate himself from wherever Sal was.

Q watched the clock on his computer tick down the seconds until 5:00PM rolled around, and as soon as it did, he stood up quickly, his chair rolling back and bumping into someone else’s chair behind him.

Murr looked up from behind his monitor and watched Q put on his jacket and reach for his scarf. He looked at the clock and then stood as well, keeping an eye on how often Q glanced towards the editor’s room while getting his winter clothes on.

“Leaving?” Murr said as he bridged the distance between them.

Q froze. “Yeah. Long day. You goin’ too?”

“Now that you mention it…” Murr started, holding a finger to his chin.

“You really need to stay, idiot.” Q wrapped his scarf around him. “You’ve only been here a few hours anyway.”

“Ah, whatever. What’re they going to do, fire me?” Murr shrugged, grinning.

“They _need_ to fire you.” Q rolled his eyes.

Murr scoffed. “I’ll leave too.” He paused, watching Q glance towards the glass door across the office again. “Are you going to say ‘bye’ to Sal?”

Q looked back at Murr. “I’ll text him later.” He said after a moment. “I don’t wanna… interrupt him while he’s working.” Q continued lamely.

Murr saw through it. “Sure.”

When the two of them made their way out of the building, they were glad the wind had calmed since earlier in the day. Q tugged his scarf down a little and sighed. Looking up at the dusky sky.

“Why didn’t you tell Sal you were leaving? I’m sure he’d want to know.” Murr confronted Q without a beat.

Q felt himself fumble in his walk. “I don’t know.” Was the best he could come up with.

“What kind of answer is that?” Murr raised an eyebrow. “I know you’re not okay still—with whatever is going on.”

“No—No, I’ve made up my mind.” Q put his hand up in Murr’s direction.

Murr made a face, his gut sending signals to his brain to get worried. “What does that mean?”

 

_Running under lights up in the sky_

_Nothing matters when you’re in the fight_

_Hold your fire,_

_Maybe we can make it all right_

 

A week drifted by. Q started struggling to make it to the office on time, to care during shooting, to even go to work at all. His head was killing him, he couldn’t focus on anything. Every time he looked at Sal he could see the worried lines form on his face again, “What’s wrong?” becoming his motto whenever he and Q saw each other. Guilt, and something else Q couldn’t pin down with a name, became permanently stuck in his throat. He tossed and turned in bed at night and although his eyelids were always heavy he could never seem to close them. During challenges he never stood beside Sal or went out of his way to be on Sal’s team. Essentially, Q was going out of his mind over this. Every which way he turned he couldn’t find any escape route—nothing was in sight. Murr texted him all the time, almost trying to delay some sort of inevitable explosion from happening. The throes of depression tumbled Q like he was a ragdoll, battering him in every direction until he could hardly tell what was up or down or left or right. He’d waited long enough, and he knew the longer he waited, the worse it was going to be for everyone.

On a cold December day, Q texted Sal to meet him at his house. When the message said “Delivered,” Q felt something wrench his gut so hard and so fast that he clasped his hand over his mouth for fear he’d get sick. The entire room seemed to swirl around him, and when he finally heard his doorbell ring, everything came to a complete standstill. Q swallowed hard, wiped his palms across his shirt, and willed his cold sweat to go away. He tiptoed his way downstairs, past Benjamin, past his living room, past everything, and opened the door. On the other side, stood Sal—eyebrows drawn tight, teeth chattering behind a tightly drawn frown.

Q felt stomach acid rising into his throat. “Hey.” He stepped aside and let Sal in, his voice shaking.

“Buddy, what’s wrong?” Sal took his hat off his head.

“Listen.” Q started loudly, his eyes closed tightly. “I have to do this before I let myself back out again—I can’t do this anymore, I’m so fucking scared.”

Sal’s eyes widened with worry. “Scared? Scared of what?”

Q’s voice shook in tandem with the rest of his body. “I think this is a mistake. I think this whole thing has been some horrible mistake that should have never happened.”

Sal reached out. “What’re you talking about? What’s going on?”

“Sal.” Q said, sniffing hard and blinking away the tears from his burning eyes. “We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter - it is the longest one yet. The next installment will conclude Critically Distant. The finale will be extremely large and complex, so I hope for your continued support and patience. I highly recommend bookmarking Critically Distant so that when the finale becomes available you will get an email about it. Since I expect the finale to take an extended period of time, I am completely open to people leaving comments on this chapter at any time asking about the status of the conclusion. Again, thank you, and look forward to the end!


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